


you can hold my hand (when you need to let go)

by mackattack12



Category: Birds of Prey (And the Fantabulous Emancipation of One Harley Quinn) (2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, F/F, boxing au, helena bertinelli needs a hug, sort of a creed au?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-02 03:22:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 21,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23788516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mackattack12/pseuds/mackattack12
Summary: Helena Bertinelli is on the verge of accomplishing everything she’s dreamed of since she was 16 years old but in the moment that should be her happiest, she can't help but feel something is missing.OrHelena’s a boxer trying to make sense of her life outside of the ring.
Relationships: Helena Bertinelli/Dinah Lance
Comments: 68
Kudos: 227





	1. Renee

**Author's Note:**

> i saw the movie creed (highly recommend it) and it made me wonder what helena would be like if she never left gotham so here is my best guess. the setting/backstories are similar to canon but no powers/superhero stuff here, just some good old fashioned fist fights. 
> 
> chapter one is more of a prologue about how renee accidentally acquires a very angry child
> 
> hope you enjoy!

The first time Renee Montoya sees Helena Bertinelli the circumstances are unfortunate.

Unfortunate isn’t really the right word but Renee’s not sure there even is a word out there that can describe the premeditated murder of an entire family.

Well _almost_ entire.

She gets the call sometime in the afternoon and almost drops her coffee mug. She’d heard rumors that Galante would make a go for the Bertinelli turf but she never thought it’d be like this. This bloody, this devastating, this traumatic, this _unfortunate_.

Before arriving at the scene, she would’ve given anything to be part of the investigation. Ever since joining the force she’s wanted to be a detective. She’d be damn good at it too if these assholes ever gave her a fucking chance. But it’s days, days like today, that make her question whether she truly has the stomach for it.

She pulls up the mansion just in time to see paramedics ushering the daughter into an ambulance. The kid’s face is splattered with blood but she’s walking so that’s a good sign.

The Bertinelli’s have a son too and Renee peers into the ambulance as she walks by to see if he’s already inside but all she sees is the wide eyed little girl. Her stomach lurches. As much as she wants to know what happened, crack the case, prove she’s detective worthy and all that, part of her wants to get back in the car and drive away from this mess.

Seeing the tiny body of the youngest Bertinelli being photographed for evidence haunts her as soon as she closes her eyes that night.

After an hour of tossing and turning, she decides to skip sleep altogether. For a minute, she debates calling Ellen. They’ve been on and off for the last year and she’d probably come over if Renee asked. Her thumb hovers over the call button.

She pours herself a drink instead.

//

The next day she sees Helena again.

Renee’s never claimed to be great with kids but she isn’t prepared for how useless she feels, standing guard over Helena Bertinelli’s hospital room. At nine years old, this kid is all that remains of a dynasty that’s had Gotham in a choke hold since before Renee even joined the GCDP. What the fuck is Renee supposed to say to her?

_Sorry you had to watch your family die in front of you. Want me to get you more pudding?_

So she doesn’t say anything and convinces herself that the kid probably prefers the silence.

She’s alright, the kid. Just a broken arm from hitting the floor when the shooting started. Renee knows that everyone will call this kid lucky for surviving the massacre but she can’t imagine that Helena feels particularly right now, sitting alone in a hospital room after losing everything.

She hasn’t said a single word, just sits there running a toy car up and down her new pink cast.

The only time she even looks at Renee is when Renee starts falling asleep standing up and has to shake herself awake with a muttered _fucking hell_. Those brown eyes look almost too big for her face and her expression is so sad and angry and scared that Renee has to look away because looking _fucking_ _hurt_.

Goddamn there were days that she hates this job.

The next morning, Helena’s ready to be released but the problem is that no one can figure out where the fuck she’s supposed to go. From what Renee hears, with the Bertinelli family gone, no one remotely close to the mafia (i.e. 100% of the Bertinelli family’s contacts) wants to take in the kid and risk retaliation from Galante. He may be sitting in a holding cell at the GCPD but the streets are crawling with his goons and they won’t appreciate any acts of kindness to the last Bertinelli, nine years old or not.

So that means foster care. The mafia princess is in for a rude awakening, not that Renee really cares at all but as she watches the kid leave the hospital with a social worker, she can’t help but pray the world will be a little kinder to Helena Bertinelli.

//

Renee finds out a couple of years later that the world (or at least Gotham) is just as shitty as always.

She gets a call about a fight at North Gotham Middle School and her first thought is _seriously?_ They’re really sending her to check in on a fight at a _middle school?_ When she arrives, she’s greeted by the sight of a row of sixth grade boys with various facial injuries sitting outside the principal's office.

“So which one of you assholes started it?” The teacher supervising the group winces at Renee’s language but doesn’t say anything. No point in sugar coating anything in Gotham of all places.

“She did.” One of the boys points to the principal’s office where a girl sits with her back to Renee. The girl is already getting an ear full by what looks like three teachers and the principal himself.

As she gets closer to the door the kid turns her head slightly and Renee feels like she’s seen a ghost.

Helena Bertinelli sits, shoulders slouched, staring up at the ceiling with an indifference that's unexpected from someone who fought what looks like seven boys. From what Renee can tell, she doesn’t have a scratch on her, just bruises on her knuckles.

So the princess _won_.

The kid looks different. Her hair is a wild mess of waves instead of the straight locks she sported three years ago and her clothes are at least two sizes too big for her, must be hand-me-downs. But when she looks over Renee, her eyes have the same intensity they did that night in the hospital. After a few seconds, Renee has to look away _again_ because she can’t handle how this kid can look so broken and yet so fierce all at once. It tears at something Renee doesn’t want to open.

The principal stops yelling at the kid when he sees Renee and he asks the teachers and Helena to wait outside so Renee can get the full story.

It’s fairly unsurprising at the start. The principal drones on about Helena having trouble making friends or even working with her classmates. Renee can tell this guy has already labeled Helena as a "problem" and would be happy if she left the school and never came back. She’s ready to tune him out when he says something that makes her heart rate spike.

“And it seems the boys noticed Helena always carries this toy with her --”

“What toy?” She asks because there's no way it can be the same one, _right?_

“A toy car.” He pulls the same purple toy car from the hospital out of his pocket and tosses it on his desk. It lands upside down in between the stapler and a framed photo and Renee snatches the car so aggressively, he stops talking completely. Renee clears her throat and gestures for him to continue. “The boys decided to take it and play a game of keep away. You know, boy stuff. I think they were just trying to get Helena to play with them.”

 _Really? Sounds like fucking bullying to me_ , Renee itches to say but she keeps her mouth shut. She’s already had a few incidents this month and she doesn’t want to give the chief anymore reasons to keep on desk duty.

“And Helena just attacked them. Like a… a wild animal. And I think you saw the damage she inflicted when you came in. You can imagine all the phone calls that I’m going to have to deal with now. The parents will want her thrown out for this fight.”

Seven against one. It really shouldn’t have been a fight, but Helena Bertinelli must have some serious spunk in her.

“Of course, we’re sensitive to her… well with what happened to her family. But that kind of behavior is unacceptable here at --”

“I understand.” Renee just wants out of this room. This asshole’s giving her a headache and yeah she might not like kids but she hates it when the people who _should_ like them don’t give them the time of day. “Why don’t you let me have a minute with the kid?”

//

She sits with Helena in an empty classroom. Helena doesn’t say anything so Renee takes the car out of her pocket and places it on Helena’s desk. Helena still says nothing, not even a thank you, but Renee tells herself the way the kid gently rubs her thumb over the roof of the car must mean she’s grateful.

“You like cars?” She just gets a shrug in response but Renee doesn’t let that deter her.

“How’s school going? Do you have a favorite subject?” Still nothing.

“What about your foster parents? They good to you --”

“Aren’t you supposed to be yelling at me?” Helena snaps. She’s never heard Helena’s voice before and it’s louder than she expected but just as angry.

“Whoa kid. I’m just asking how you are.” Renee feels like she’s trying to calm a trapped cat that’s about to swat at her if she comes too close or says too much.

“But why?”

“Because I wanna know. Don’t people ask how you’re doing?” Helena looks at her like she has ten heads.

Goddammit. Can nothing just be _easy?_

This kid is like fucking E.T. and Renee’s not really in the mood to teach her all that _phone, home_ bullshit. But this is the deal she made when she became a cop. “Serve and Protect” and all that, so she sucks it up and taps into the patience she usually stores up for her sexist coworkers.

“Okay, well I just wanna have a talk with you. You think you can answer some of my questions?” The kid nods so Renee keeps going. “I’d really like to know how things are going at home?”

“That’s _not_ my home.” It’s quieter this time but Renee can feel the rage burning off the kid’s tongue. Helena’s fists clench and Renee changes the subject. So much for E.T., this kid's about to transform into the fucking _Hulk_.

But, slowly but surely, she gets her to talk.

They talk about school mostly, what classes she likes (math and spanish are okay but her favorite is PE), what classes she doesn’t like (english and history because she doesn’t like all the reading), what her favorite dress down day is (pajama day because she has a pajama pants with purple stars on them).

Everything the kid says is very stilted like she only has the stamina for one word a minute and it makes Renee wonder how long it’s been since someone tried, _really_ tried to talk to Helena Bertinelli.

When the conversation finally lulls, Helena’s eyes start darting at the door.

“What? You got somewhere to be?”

“I… No. But. Aren’t you going to yell at me?”

Yelling would only make the kid shut down and she’s trying to keep her engaged. Awake.

Renee takes a deep breath and, not for the first time today, wishes her buddy Dinah had gotten the call instead of her. Drake’s better at all this good cop soft shit.

“I’m not gonna yell at you.” Helena's shoulders relax but the tension in her brow remains. “Look, what those boys did was shitty. I mean it. It’s not okay to take someone’s stuff, you know? But shit kid, you can’t just go around hitting people. Okay?”

Renee doesn’t expect Helena to say anything but as they walk to the door, she whispers a quick _okay._

And Renee wants to believe her but something about the way Helena’s fist clenches around the car as soon as they’re out of the classroom makes her think this is only the beginning.

They’re met in the hallway by Helena by her foster parents. The shouts of _what is wrong with you?_ and _why can’t you just behave?_ echo as they march Helena down the hallway and out the door.

Renee just watches because what else can she do? She’s got her own problems and she can’t afford to make Helena Bertinelli one of them.

//

Except that’s exactly what she does.

A lot happens over the next three years. Renee makes detective, _finally_. Gets married. Takes an actual vacation for the first time since college.

(Miami’s really not all it’s cracked up to be, the people are dumber there than they are in Gotham.)

And somehow Renee keeps crossing paths with Helena Bertinelli.

As expected, there are more fights.

And other things too. Skipping school, skipping mandatory counseling sessions, and a few times now, she’s tried skipping town.

Now that Renee’s a detective she doesn’t deal directly with Helena much anymore, just sees her carted around by different cops, always with the same slouch in her shoulders.

Each time she’s brought in, Renee asks, _what the fuck have you done this time, Bertinelli?_ and Helena just shrugs, looking way too proud of herself.

That’s new. The pride. It’s those little smirks that remind Renee of Helena’s father and she wonders whether he’d be just as proud of his princess’s bad behavior if he was still here.

And as much as Renee tries to stay out of it, she can’t stop herself one night after a fight with Ellen and a few too many vodka sodas, from calling Helena’s counselor.

What a fucking quack. Telling Renee shit she doesn't need a degree to see.

_PTSD, anxiety, rage issues, etc._

No shit.

But when Renee asks the guy what the fuck he’s doing to help her, he tells her something that stops her from marching into his office and throwing his dipolma in the shredder.

_“It’s hard to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped.”_

And it makes Renee think, what if Helena likes her anger, her rage, her walls? What if those moments, where she lets it all out, are when she feels the most alive?

It’s a scary thought because for a kid with the build of a pool noodle, Helena packs a hard punch.

What happens if she throws one too many?

//

Renee gets her answer on the worst possible day.

Seriously, Renee can’t think of a day worse than this colossal dumpster fire of day.

Everyone told her getting married was such a good idea. That she and Ellen were great together. That they’d make each other happy. What nobody told her was that she’s a self destructive hurricane of a woman that couldn’t make happiness last even if she really wanted it too. So now, she’s sitting in fucking mediation, listening to their lawyers going back and forth about their assets.

Divorced. She’s fucking _divorced_.

Ellen barely looks at her in the meeting and leaves before Renee can get a word in. All she wanted to say is that she’s thirty day sober for Christ's sake.

Probably a good thing she didn’t get a chance to tell Ellen though because as soon as she gets in the car and pictures walking into her cold and empty new apartment, those thirty days go straight out the window.

The bar is practically empty when she gets there. Why would it be crowded at 3pm on a Thursday?

It takes three whiskeys for her headache to go away. And one more for her to push away all thoughts of Ellen and the divorce and the job that’s taken over her life. For a minute she’s just floating.

Until her phone rings.

“What do you want, Drake?” She and Dinah go way back. Used to ride together before Renee made detective but with her personal life going to hell, lets just say Renee hasn’t been the greatest friend lately.

“Montoya, where are you?”

“At home.” The lie comes so easily. Too easily. This is probably the shit that drove Ellen away but whatever.

“You’ve got to come to the station. It’s Helena. Renee, it’s bad.” Renee inhales sharply but after the shitty day she’s had, she’s going to hold her ground. She does _not_ care about Helena Bertinelli.

It’s so much easier not to care. If she admits she does then that means adding another name to the list of people she’s failed because Helena’s been on a downward spiral for years and Renee can’t seem to find a way to reverse it. Not that she’s _really_ tried, not as hard as she could've.

Goddammit.

“What’s that got to do with me, Drake?”

“Oh, don’t you dare do that. I know she’s special to you and she doesn’t have a lot of people in her corner right now. I thought you’d want to be one of them. I guess I was wrong.” The line goes dead but Renee is up and out of her seat before she can hear the dial tone.

Thank God she’s a good drunk driver.

//

Drake fills her in on what happened when she gets to the station.

Some dipshit said something about Helena’s family deserving what they got and she broke his fucking cheekbone. And his nose. And three ribs.

Renee’s surprised to see Helena’s right eye is practically swollen shut when she makes her way to lockup. Someone’s actually managed to land a punch. All that rage must’ve made her sloppy this time.

“You look like shit, kid.”

“You should see the other guy.” Helena jokes. Jesus Christ, of all times to develop a fucking sense of humor.

“Well I can’t because he’s in the hospital.” Helena at least has the decency to look embarrassed.

Renee pulls a chair in front of the cell. Her headache is returning with the vengeance of all her ex-girlfriends (and now ex-wife) so she rubs her forehand for a minute, willing the pain to hold off just a little bit longer.

“You’re gonna go away for this. You know that, right?”

Helena nods. Of course she knows. The kid’s been flirting with juvie like most girls her age flirt with boys. Now she’ll get to spend her 16th birthday there.

And it’s all too much. She’s lost Ellen and she can feel Helena slipping through her fingers and Renee hates how that thought makes her hands start shaking. Soon tears are falling with every blink no matter how quickly she bats them away. Helena just watches, brow furrowed and mouth open.

“I… I didn’t know you would be… I… I’m sorry.” She sounds so confused, like she can’t understand why Renee’s upset but she knows it’s her fault.

But it’s not Helena’s fault.

Not really.

“I’m sorry too Helena.”

They don’t say much more after that but Renee sits with her for as long as she can.

When Renee leaves the station later that night, she decides she’s done pretending.

She _cares_ about Helena Bertinelli.

(Too bad admitting that make anything easier.)

//

For some asinine reason, Renee actually thought that Helena would walk out of Juvie a changed young woman.

What a _sucker_.

When Helena’s probation officer informs her that the kid is dangerously close to going back after pushing some lacrosse player into an outdoor fountain, Renee decides she needs a more hands on plan. Something more than driving her to and from her counseling sessions to make sure she actually attends them.

So Renee makes some phone calls.

To Mrs. Brown, the old lady who owns a produce market. To Johnny Davis, who owns the burger joint downtown. To literally anyone Renee can think of that owns a business and might be willing to hire a temperamental teenager with a record.

The thought behind her new plan is that maybe getting Helena a job would give her some purpose or at least help her with her social skills (or lack thereof.) But it’s not going so well because no one wants to take a chance on the kid and as much as she wants to, Renee can’t blame them. Helena hasn’t made things easy for herself.

Renee takes a long sip of her beer, racking her brain for another person to call when her phone rings. It’s her partner Tim Evans, who sounds all too happy to inform Renee that someone spotted Helena at the Greyhound station.

At this point the whole GCPD sees her as Helena’s keeper, whether she likes it or not. And she doesn’t. She _hates_ it.

“Okay, I’ll go get her.”

“Isn’t that a little below your pay grade, _detective_.” Evans sneers. The fucking fragile ego on this one. Can’t take it that she’s the lead detective because he couldn’t crack a case even if Sherlock Holmes and Nancy fucking Drew fed him the answers on a silver fucking spoon.

“Pretty sure that’s for me to decide, Evans.”

By the time she pulls up to the Greyhound station, Helena is in line to board a bus heading to Central City.

“Don’t even fucking think about it, princess.” She calls, not even bothering to get out of the car.

Helena hesitates for a few seconds. Eyes narrowed and jaw clenched like she’s daring Renee to come after her but then Renee honks the horn and Helena surrenders, throwing her bag over her shoulder as she heads to the car.

The way she slams the passenger side door shut has Renee seeing red.

She’s done being patient and she’s sure as hell done being nice. Especially since she’s spent the better half of her day off trying to get Helena an afterschool job.

“Jesus Christ, kid. What’s it gonna take? Two months out of juvie and you’re still pulling this shit. Didn’t juvie scare you?”

Helena only scoffs and Renee has _had it_.

“Alright. Fine. You’re so fucking tough, I’ll take you back there then. Let’s go right now.”

“Fine.” Helena shrugs. She must think Renee’s bluffing but as they pass the Juvenile Detention Center sign, Renee sees the kid from the hospital room seven years ago. As much as Helena fights it, she can’t hide the fear in her eyes. Not from Renee.

“Wait. No. You…. You can’t… how can you...” Her eyes are wild and her breathing is shallow.

“What? You’re headed back here anyway. See if I care. I just wanna save myself the time in court.”

“Fuck you.” She spits.

“Yeah, fuck you too, princess. I don’t care that you’re sixteen, I’ll say it back.”

“No. Stop. Stop. The car.” Helena’s yelling now. Renee taps her fingers on the steering wheel, willing the cloud of her own anger and frustration to dissipate. After a deep breath, she puts her foot on the break.

But she’s not fast enough.

“I said STOP.” Helena screams and then Renee hears a sickening crack.

Helena has punched the window so hard that the glass shatters. Renee pulls over and has the passenger side door thrown up in a matter of seconds.

One look at the kid’s hand and she knows she’s broken at least two knuckles but her more pressing concern is that Helena is hyperventilating.

“Kid. Breathe. Just take a big breath in. That’s it. Now exhale.” The pain must set in because Helena gasps. “Come on, Helena. Breathe with me. Inhale. Exhale. Good.”

And for once, Helena listens.

//

The drive to the hospital is silent.

Renee feels sick. Every bone in her body begs her to open the flask she keeps hidden in the sunglasses holder. She only wanted to get through to Helena but in the end she’s no better than the foster parents that ignored her or the teachers that gave up on her, or the boys that provoked her.

Why does caring have to be so fucking hard?

In an uncomfortable waiting room chair, she traces her thumb over the toy car Helena had shoved into her hand before she was led away for x-rays. It feels like she’s trapped in her own mind, stuck analyzing what she could have done or said differently.

Renee had never seen Helena like that before. She’d always seen her _after_ the fights but had not actually witnessed the violence before today.

In that moment, Helena had been like an open nerve. Just vibrating with pain. Helpless.

Renee’s halfway out the door, ready to find her flask, when the doctor calls her back.

And as follows the doctor through the hallway, she’s transported back in time.

How can seven years have gone by and she’s still standing in a hospital room with Helena Bertinelli? Renee’s mind goes blank, lost in her memories.

And for the first time, Helena breaks the silence.

“Last time we were here my cast was pink. I like the blue better.” Renee’s head shoots up because she had always assumed Helena’d forgotten that night or at least not put it together that Renee was in there with her.

“You remember?”

“Yeah. You kept falling asleep standing up.”

“You don’t miss a thing do you?” Helena shakes her head, lips twitching into the smallest of smiles. “I am so sorry, Helena. I just… I just wanted--”

“I know. I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have… Sometimes I can’t stop.” It’s not a lot to go on but it’s the most Helena’s ever said about her outbursts so Renee takes a chance.

“Well kid, maybe it’s time you learned to.”

“How?”

“I think your counselor’s been wanting to help you with that for years.”

“What’s the point?” Helena asks like she doesn’t even want the answer.

But even if she doesn’t mean it, she still asked a good question. One that Renee hasn’t really been able to answer for herself. If she had all the answers, she wouldn’t have flasks hidden in her desk at work.

So Renee thinks of all the time she’s spent with Helena. How the kid’s shoulders alway slouch like she’s expecting the worst and she wonders what it’d be like for Helena to expect something good from people and more importantly, _herself_.

“Hear me out. Don’t you think it’d be nice to put some of this anger down? It gotta be heavy carrying it all the time.”

“So what? You get me to stop feeling angry and then what? What will I have?” Helena’s bottom lip trembles but she seems determined not to cry. “I’ll have nothing. Nothing to live for.”

“That is not true. You’ve got a lot to live for.”

“Like what?”

Renee takes her time before answering. She could say what she wants to: _love, happiness, joy_. But Helena won’t buy that, not when she knows the cost. Knows the pain love leaves in its wake. 

So Renee frames it in a way that she hopes will strike a chord with Helena.

“Revenge.” Helena rolls her eyes.

“Yeah right. This isn’t some stupid comic book.”

“Hey, listen to me. Galante wanted you dead but you’re not. You’re not. I need… You have to start acting like it. The best revenge you can get is to live and live _well_. If not for you, then for them.” With that Renee places the purple toy car on the bedside table.

She’d really looked at it for the first time when she was in the waiting room. It didn’t take long for her to find what makes this car so special.

The name _Pino_ , written in silver marker on the bottom of the car, is faded but still there.

“For him, Helena.”

And when Helena finally does cry, Renee rubs her back until the tears stop.

//

Renee spends the next few weeks driving Helena from school to her physical therapy appointments and then back home like she’s a fucking chauffeur.

The Chief reassigns most of her cases and as pissed as she is, she understands. She’s been distracted. But when he offhandedly wishes her luck dealing with her “family troubles,” Renee has to fight the instinct to tell him that Helena is _not_ her family.

Because she isn’t.

Is she?

Renee drinks a little too much that night. She even calls Ellen who sends her straight to voicemail. After, she goes to an AA meeting. Well, sort of. Does it count as attending if she just stands outside for thirty minutes before giving up and going home?

Yeah, Renee doesn't think so either. 

//

Helena on the other hand is doing better. She still doesn’t say much but she stops slamming doors so that’s a start.

And Renee’s learned her lesson after thinking a few months in Juvie would change Helena. One productive talk in a hospital room wasn’t going to solve all of Helena’s problems but it really does feel like she’s taken one step forward.

Renee just has to be there to make sure the kid doesn't take three steps back.

It feels like another small victory when she gets a call back from a potential employer for Helena. His name’s Sal and he owns a gym, a real old school one by the looks of it. He’s also the scariest looking man Renee’s ever seen (and she’s seen a lot of fucking people in Gotham) but the background check comes out clean so Renee takes her favorite delinquent to meet him.

The sign is barely legible, faded and crooked but she makes out _Sal’s_ written in rusty cursive.  
As soon as they walk in, the kid immediately parks herself in front of two guys sparring in the ring that takes up the whole back half of the gym. Some teenage girls like going to the mall and some like watching people beat the shit out of each other. Of course Renee would get stuck with the latter.

As soon as she makes it to Sal’s office, she launches into the speech she’d prepared the night before.

“... and she’s a really great kid once you get to know her. Not one of those that’s gonna talk your ear off or nothing but she’s still got a lot of… personality. I was thinking maybe she could clean or something? Maybe repaint that sign you’ve got outside? She just needs some discipline, you know? And goals for her focus on --”

“I don’t need her to work.” Sal says in his thick Italian accent and Renee’s confused.

“Well then why did you ask us to come here if you didn’t want --”

“Work, no. But train, yes.”

“Train?”

“Boxing.” He gestures to the posters hung all over the office of famous boxers. Renee notes that most of them are signed.

“Okay so let me get this straight. You want to train a kid with a history of violence to box? Seriously?” Renee can’t help but laugh. Is this guy for real?

“Yes.” Well fuck, he is serious then.

“Yeah okay, thanks for the offer, Sal, but --”

“Would you rather her fight in the ring or out of it?” That stops Renee in her tracks. As annoyed as Renee is with all the interrupting, she can’t deny the guy has a point. It doesn’t seem like any amount of counseling is gonna get rid of Helena’s anger. So what if they tried channeling it?

It’s worth a shot.

So they work out a schedule. Sal agrees to work with Helena for two hours every week day after school but when Renee offers to pay him for the boxing lessons he refuses.

“You really don’t want any money?”

“No.” Sal’s a man few fucking words. He and Helena will probably get along great.

“That’s crazy. You’re just going to help the kid for free?”

“Isn’t that what you do too?” He asks.

This guy, he’s something else.

Renee’s just doing her _job_ but when she tells Sal as much, he just smiles at her like he can see through her bullshit.

“Look Detective, I’m not really being selfless here. The Bertinellis were good people. When the bank wouldn’t give me a loan to open this place, Franco did.” He sighs and looks down at his hands. “After what happened, I thought I would never get the chance to repay them. Now I can.”

And Renee thinks back to what Dinah Drake said the night Helena got arrested.

_“She doesn’t have a lot of people in her corner.”_

Well the kid’s got two now.

She clears her throat. A lot of dust in this office. 

“Sal, I hope they gave you a lot because she is not easy.”

Sal’s belly shakes when he laughs and Renee can’t help but join him.

//

Helena smiles when Renee tells her about her new extracurricular activity. _Actually_ smiles. Teeth and everything. Renee puts her hand on Helena’s forehead, checking for a fever or some other reasonable explanation.

She gets a glare from Helena and a grumbled, “What? I smile.”

Renee shouldn’t be surprised though. Of course, Helena is excited about getting the chance to hit things and not get in trouble for it.

Jesus why didn’t Renee think of this sooner?

As Renee pulls up to Helena’s foster parent’s apartment building, she stops Helena from getting out.

“Wait. Shouldn’t we go over the rules again?”

“Do we have to?” Helena whines and Renee remembers why she _hates_ kids.

“That was a rhetorical question, genius.”

“Oh. Right.” Jesus, they’ve still got a ways to go with social cues.

“Alright, Rule #1, absolutely no fighting outside the gym. Rule #2, no running away. Rule #3, you go to school every fucking day. What happens if you break any of those rules?”

“You and Sal won’t let me train.”

“See I knew you were smart.” That gets another full smile out of Helena.

Two in one day.

Not bad considering that’s two more than Renee’s ever seen.

//

Renee sits in a squeaky folding chair in an overheated gymnasium, praying these assholes keep the speeches short.

She can’t believe she’s here. If someone would’ve told her ten years ago that Helena would become the most consistent part of her life, she would’ve laughed her fucking ass off. But life is weird so here she is, sweating through her shirt at Helena Bertinelli’s high school graduation. It’s been a long time coming. The kid had to repeat 11th grade because well, Juvie, but she still did it.

She fucking did it.

Turns out the best way to guarantee perfect attendance was to threaten to take away the princess’s one true love: boxing.

Renee’s always prided herself on her work ethic. She studied hard in school, dedicated her life to being a good cop, some like her ex-wife might even say to a fault. But she knows she’s never seen anyone work as hard as Helena does in the boxing ring.

She’d been nervous to go to Helena’s first fight and when she’d told Sal as much, he had just laughed at her.

“It will be over quickly.” He’d told her, which did nothing to quiet the nerves bubbling up in her stomach.

But he was right.

It was quick.

At seventeen, Helena fucking TKO’ed a girl five years older and ten pounds heavier in her first official fight ever.

They hugged for the first time ever after. It wasn’t even a great hug because Helena was sweating like she’d just come out of a fucking sauna but whatever.

She gets another one after Helena gets her diploma. Sal even takes a picture with his phone and asks Renee if she wants him to send it to her but she says no. She’s not that much of a softie.

He sends it to her anyway.

//

The years go by and Renee changes partners and girlfriends but Helena Bertinelli remains a permanent fixture in Renee’s life.

When Helena turns eighteen, she gets access to the trust her parents had set up for her. It was fucking hysterical to watch the kid who’s worn nothing but oversized black hoodies for the last nine years, become a millionaire.

She upgrades the baggy hoodies to fitted Adidas tracksuits. When Renee tries to tell her she could afford nicer clothes, Helena just scrunches up her nose and says, “But why? I like these.”

And Renee can’t argue with that logic.

The princess does splurge on one thing. A motorcycle. It’s like she wants to _kill_ Renee.

And she gets her own place too. It’s small and nothing like the mansion she came from but the kid is giddy when she gets the keys to the ancient studio apartment with a fire escape that looks like it couldn’t hold a cat.

The kid has to learn how to cook all on her own because Renee lives on a diet of Jack Daniels and cereal but Sal gets her started with some authentic Italian recipes. Once she masters her first dish, she invites Renee over to try it and then she just keeps inviting Renee over for dinner, until it becomes a Sunday night tradition. 

Renee thinks it’s Helena’s way of saying _thank you_ even if she doesn’t say it out loud.

//

Aside from Sunday dinners, Helena is there for her in other ways too. Big ways.

When Renee’s friend from the GCPD, Dinah Drake, is killed on the job, Helena goes with Renee to the funeral. Helena doesn’t say anything, she doesn’t have to. Yeah, Helena may be a twenty year old with the social skills of a middle school boy but if there’s anything she understands, it’s the grief and rage Renee feels as the casket is lowered into the ground.

Drake’s kid is there. Another Dinah. She must have graduated college by now. She looks so much like her mother, it makes Renee smile as she remembers her friend. A woman with the biggest laugh and best personality ever because seriously, who else could name her own kid after _herself_.

As the first flurries of snow fall on Gotham, Dinah Lance stands by herself, frozen, staring at the grave long after the casket is buried. She reminds Renee of Helena in that moment.

Alone in the world.

For a second, Renee thinks of introducing the two of them but Helena’s still so skittish around new people, that’s probably the last thing either of them want right now.

//

A week after Helena’s 24th birthday, Helena flies with Sal to Argentina for the 2020 Olympic Qualifiers.

Once Helena'd started breezing through the amateur circuit, Sal'd wanted her to focus on going pro but Helena is nothing if not stubborn. She wanted to be an Olympian more than she wanted big contracts and sponsors so Sal stopped his nagging and they got to work.

And of it is about to pay off.

Just one more win and the kid'll book her ticket to Tokyo.

And Renee just can’t believe it. She’s been witness to Helena's rollercoaster of a life for fifteen years now and even though there’s more ups than downs these days, nothing’s perfect.

Even with boxing in her life, Helena still struggles with her rage, still sometimes raises her voice a little too loud or hits a wall instead of a punching bag.

But she still lives by the rules Renee made for her. She hasn’t fought anyone outside of the ring in years and Renee knows when Helena travels out of Gotham for a tournament, she’ll come back.

She’s even made friends. Well _one_ friend.

Harley fucking Quinn.

Not Renee’s ideal choice considering Harley is like a barbie, a Rottweiler, and a shit ton of boxed wine all blended together with a pinch of dumbass and maybe a few pixie sticks. She boxes at Sal’s too, not competitively, thank God, because Harley’s the dirtiest fighter that Renee’s ever seen, but she’s patient with Helena and that’s really all Renee can ask for.

Renee sits at her kitchen table, whiskey in hand, refreshing the results page on her phone.

Nothing.

The results should be up by now.

Renee’s about to start pacing when her phone rings.

The name _Helena Bertinelli_ flashes across her screen.

“Did you win?” Renee doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries, she’s too excited.

“Yeah. I won.” Renee lets out a _WOOOO_ she didn’t know she had in her, throwing her hands in the air and even though she can’t see her, Renee knows Helena’s fighting a smile at the sound she just made.

“Fuck yeah you did! You fucking did it. You’re going to Tokyo!” Helena can fight it all she wants but this is a big fucking deal and Renee’s going to celebrate.

“Yeah.” Her tone catches Renee off guard. Helena’s never been big on letting emotions other than rage slip into her voice but right now, she’s breathless and beaming.

“You good, kid?” Renee jokes.

“Yeah. Totally. Um. Renee?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.” Helena doesn’t say for what but Renee knows and it’s enough.

It’s everything, really.

And something inside of Renee just _clicks_.

After everything that’s happened, after everything they’ve been through, watching Helena Bertinelli figure out how to be human makes Renee want to be a better one.

 _Need_ to be a better one.

When she hangs up the phone she dumps all of the alcohol in her apartment down the drain.


	2. Helena

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> approx. 6k of helena learning a whole lot, but mostly not to run from what she wants (both emotionally and physically) ft. renee, harley, and DINAH

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> picks up right after the end of chapter one, from helena's pov
> 
> remember when i said this chapter would be shorter??? lolololol

The world disappears for a second as the flashing cameras succeed in blinding her more than the rapid swelling of her right eye. On reflex, she reaches out to push the closest camera away from her face but hesitates before she makes contact.

What would they say?

_Helena Bertinelli attacks photographer?_

She turns the motion into an awkward wave at the crowd instead, Sal’s mantra ringing in her mind over the noise in the hallway.

_Keep it in the ring. Keep it in the ring. Keep it in the ring._

Only, that’d be a hell of a lot easier if all the photographers and journalists weren’t blocking her path to the locker room.

She just wants a shower but all the expectant looks means there’s a toll to pay first, so she sighs and grits out, “Sure… I can answer a few questions.”

The journalists all shout out at once and Helena wishes Sal would just rescue her from this like usual but he’s similarly surrounded at the other end of the hallway.

God fighting is _easy_ compared to this crap.

They’d barely given her time to call Renee before hounding her with questions about what it’s like being a role model for young girls getting into boxing. It’s all such bullshit because A, she’s just going to recycle the same old sound bites from the flashcards Renee helped her make and B, she’s the last person that should be considered a role model.

She sleepwalks her way through the questions until she gets one that throws her off.

“Helena, tell us, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when you get home?”

Why would they want to know that?

“Sleep probably.” All the journalists laugh like Helena’s joking around with them but she wishes they’d let her in on the joke because what's so funny about sleep?

“Yeah sure, sleep is important.” One of the journalists says. “But we’re looking for something a little juicer, like how will you be celebrating your win? Will you have a party? Go on a special vacation? With a special someone, maybe?”

“Oh.”

 _Oh_.

This question is _not_ on her flashcards. Helena plans to tell Renee this when she gets home so they can come up with a better answer for next time.

If there’s anything Helena hates, it’s being unprepared.

“I… I think I’ll just get back to the gym. Not a lot of time before Tokyo.”

The journalists all nod along with her answer but the air of excitement from a few moments ago dissipates and a tingle of frustration crawls up her spine because what did they expect?

No one’s ever invited her to a party and she doesn’t have time for a vacation.

Her jaw clenches and her hands curl into fists despite the screaming cuts and bruises on her knuckles.

_Keep it in the ring. Keep it in the ring. Keep it in the ring._

Thankfully one of them puts an end to the interview.

“Well you heard it here first, no “off days” for our welterweight champion. Thank you for chatting with us, Helena.”

Helena just nods and weaves her way through the crowd, slamming the locker room door so hard she can imagine their gasps at the clashing sound.

//

Showering is her favorite part of her post competition ritual. She’s found that if she stays in there long enough, the warm water washes away her stress and anxiety along with her blood and sweat.

But tonight, she waits for relief that doesn’t come.

The journalist’s question still buzzing in her ears.

_How will you be celebrating your win? Will you have a party? Go on a special vacation?_

_With a special someone, maybe?_

She spends so much time trying to work out why exactly that question bothers her that the water turns cold and she’s left shivering in an empty locker room.

//

Ever since she started training with Sal, Helena’s lived her life on a schedule.

It’s a simple one:

_Train_

_Eat_

_Train_

_Sleep_

_Repeat_

And over the years, Helena’s mapped out comfort in the structure, in being set and wired to a routine. The idea of breaking it, of going off course, well that’s… that’s just not an option anymore. For so many years she was a cannon of rage that fired at anyone and anything. She can’t go back to that. She _won’t_.

So she sticks to the schedule.

If the path to stability means avoiding things that most 24 year olds do then so be it.

No going to bars. No coffee shops. No movie theaters. Etc.

And that’s been fine.

Really. It has.

Until now.

Now, she’s pacing around her apartment unable to sleep. Her schedule is going to be thrown off without her usual eight hours and as anxious as that makes her, there’s a part of her that doesn’t even _care_.

Two days ago, she qualified for the Olympics.

_The Olympics._

She’s heard people say they want to “shout from the rooftops” and that doesn’t really make sense to her because that is not an effective method of communication but now, she sort of gets that there are things that just can’t be kept inside.

Her skin is thrumming with energy that needs to be released and if she’s not going to yell from her rooftop then she at least needs to _move_.

It’s 2am and she’s seriously considering running her usual five mile route through Robinson Park, anything to get this buzzing out of her system.

The thought floats around that maybe there is something good about going to bars and restaurants and coffee shops after all. Places where she could “hangout” or whatever with people and maybe unload all this built up energy.

But then she remembers the pitying and at times fearful looks that come with being a Bertinelli and suddenly being alone all the time doesn’t seem so bad.

And she’s fine.

Really.

She doesn’t need anyone else.

_How will you be celebrating your win? Will you have a party? Go on a special vacation?_

_With a special someone, maybe?_

She drowns out all the voices in her head by doing so many push ups that she passes out on the floor.

Her limbs are stiff and her arms ache the next morning but she still runs her route through Robinson Park.

She’s not ready to break her routine.

Not yet.

//

The next week goes by as it should.

_(Train_

_Eat_

_Train_

_Sleep_

_Repeat)_

And it’s nice, falling back into the rhythm of routine.

But each night brings the same restlessness and the more she tells herself to sleep, the louder and more lucid her thoughts get.

Flashes of the gold medal around her neck morph into a glove clashing against her cheekbone.

She feels like one of those ice creams she sees kids eating outside her apartment building during the summer, a perfect swirl of excitement and worry that she can’t separate without ruining the whole thing.

She’s wanted this for so long but the Olympics were always an abstract thing. Something far off in the distance that she could barely make out but now those stupid multi-colored rings are directly in front of her face and she can’t _sleep_.

And on top of all that, some asshole in the apartment beneath hers must be having a party tonight because her walls are _vibrating_ from the music.

Every thump of bass is starting to feel like a punch to the gut and there’s only so much she can take on so little sleep.

_That's it._

Helena throws off her comforter so forcefully the whole thing crashes into her bedside table, sending everything on it flying. She doesn’t stop to pick up the mess or even put shoes on before marching down the stairs.

The music is still seeping through the walls as she pounds her fist against the door, shoulders back, chest puffed out and ready.

The door opens just a crack, revealing only the sliver of a face. A pretty face. Just streaks of dyed blonde hair, one brown eye, half a nose, and a corner of lips but all of the features are so striking, Helena can feel her nerve faltering.

But she recovers.

(She always does.)

“Can I help you?” The woman behind the door asks.

“Yeah, you could turn your _fucking_ music down.” Helena snaps, volume rivaling that of the music blaring from the apartment.

And suddenly the door is opening all the way and Helena’s space is being invaded by this woman. In a few quick steps, she’s inches away from Helena and she’s looking at her a lot like her opponents do before a fight.

Like they can’t wait to tear her apart.

They never do but, for some reason, Helena thinks this woman _could_. She’s shorter and smaller but damn does she have the face of a fighter. All pursed lips and heavy brows. Even in her oversized t-shirt and mismatched socks, she’s more intimidating than anyone Helena can remember fighting.

“Wanna try asking me that again?”

She’s so close Helena can feel the woman’s breath against her chin and she finds herself side stepping like she’s avoiding an incoming punch.

“What? Are you gonna hit me?” The woman asks, incredulous and completely unafraid.

And Helena’s confused until she looks down and sees her own hands are up, fists clenched. Her breath catches. Shame burns through her until it has extinguished every ounce of fight she has left and her arms hang limply by her sides.

“No. I’m sorry. I… I would never….” Her face is fire and tears are forming in her eyes and then she’s practically _sprinting_ toward the stairs. The woman is calling after her but she doesn’t slow down until she hears footsteps behind her.

“Hey. Wait.” Helena stops but doesn’t turn around. “I shouldn’t have gotten in your face like that. I’m sorry too.”

Helena shakes her head because _she’s_ the one who started this with her rudeness and her anger. This woman should be locking her door, not apologizing.

“Hey. Can you look at me?”

And Helena’s been through a lot of fights. Broken a lot of bones. Torn and strained muscles. But nothing cuts quite like shame so the act of turning to face this woman is _excruciating_.

But she does it.

Helena must look as horrible as she feels judging by the way the woman’s entire face softens.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispers, eyes glued to her feet.

“I know. It’s okay. Really.” The woman’s voice is gentler now. Soothing almost. “Listen, I think we got off on the wrong foot. I’m Dinah.”

She… _Dinah_ holds out her hand for Helena to shake but Helena doesn’t move. Her hands have already betrayed her once tonight, she won’t let them again.

“What’s your name?” The woman lowers her hand but doesn’t let Helena slip away. “Hey, I’ll have to give you one if you don’t tell me and just warning you, you might not like it.”

And Helena looks up at that. Is this woman _teasing_ her? After what just happened?

“Brittany? No, you’re not a Brittany. Amanda? Nah, I don’t see it. Maybe Mary? It’s a little boring but maybe --”

“Helena.” She blurts out, mostly because Dinah’s voice, her teasing voice is making Helena’s heart beat even faster and she needs her to _stop_.

“Nice to meet you, Helena.”

Dinah holds out her hand again and Helena still doesn’t want to take it but it’s clear by Dinah's encouraging nod that she’s not giving up.

So after another deep breath, Helena reaches out.

Dinah’s hand is nothing like her own. It’s _soft_ and she’s wearing lots of rings that are cool against Helena’s skin and Helena can’t remember the last time she did something as simple as shaking someone’s hand.

“I’m sorry again. I’ve been… I’ve not been sleeping and… the music. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hey Helena, did I look scared?” She asks, still gentle but there’s more weight behind her words.

“I was… and you….” But her stuttering stops as she thinks back. Remembers how _fierce_ Dinah was just inches away from her face. “No. You didn’t.”

“I didn’t because I wasn’t. Okay?” Dinah holds her stare, waiting for confirmation.

“Okay.” She nods.

“Do I think you could’ve asked nicer? Yeah. But I get it. I need my sleep too.” Dinah’s smiling now and Helena feels her own lips twitching. The burning in her cheeks cools as the shame slowly returns to its place buried in her chest (for the moment, at least).

“Well, I’m gonna go keep unpacking but don’t worry, I’ll turn my music down.” Dinah gives Helena’s hand a squeeze and it’s then that Helena realizes she never let go of Dinah’s hand. “Catch you later?”

She just nods in response, still looking at her hand but when she looks up and sees Dinah’s retreating form, she feels the urge to say _more_.

“Dinah.” She calls before she can stop herself and when Dinah turns, she adds, “Um. Goodnight.”

It feels awkward coming out of her mouth. Her tongue’s really not used to wrapping around such casual acknowledgements like goodbyes but if Dinah notices, she doesn’t comment, just offering a goodbye of her own.

“Hope you get some sleep, Helena.”

Back in her apartment, Helena picks up the mess she made in her room during her hasty exit. She finds Pino’s car under her bed and as her thumb traces over the letters written on the bottom, she wonders if she dreamt the whole interaction with Dinah.

(But there’s no way.

Her dreams are never that _nice_.)

//

She’s tempted to tell Renee about meeting Dinah during their Sunday dinner but what would she say?

_I met someone. We’ve had exactly one conversation and I already yelled at her._

_I want to try again._

But she and Renee have never talked about anything like this before.

(Mostly because Helena never _felt_ like this before.)

Renee would probably just tease her and yeah she might've found warmth in Dinah’s teasing, but getting teased by Renee is a hurricane of rude height comparisons so Helena keeps the whole Dinah thing to herself.

And anyway, Renee’s been quiet all night which isn’t exactly unusual. Neither of them are the kind of people who need to fill every silence.

But this is different.

Renee’s been staring at her plate for ten minutes straight, just pushing her food from one corner to another.

It isn’t until Helena clears her untouched plate that Renee finds the words she must’ve been searching for.

“I’ve been going to AA meetings.”

Helena freezes, hands halfway to the dishwasher.

All the trips in Renee’s car as a teenager made Helena familiar with the smell of alcohol on her breath. But there are just some things in their relationship they do _not_ talk about.

Renee respects Helena’s boundaries about her family so Helena always figured she should, in turn, respect Renee’s clipped assurances that she “has it under control” and to “leave it the fuck alone, Bertinelli.”

So yes, they may not talk about it but Helena doesn’t keep any alcohol in her apartment and she always sleeps with her ringer on just in case Renee calls for a late night ride home

“It’s been a long time coming.” Renee shakes her head in that self deprecating way that she always gets on Helena for doing. “It’s gonna be fucking hard though. I mean, fuck, it already is and it’s only been eleven days.”

And Helena _understands_. She’s deeply familiar with how painful progress is.

Sal’s always telling her that she can’t control her opponents in the ring but she can control what she does. And Helena _tries_ so hard everyday to ingrain that principle in her life outside the ring as well. To be in control of herself. Of her anger.

But as the other night with Dinah proved, she still has a long way to go.

Renee has a long way to go too but the resolute set of her jaw tells Helena that Renee really is _ready_ to take control.

“You know what Sal says, ‘one step at a time, one punch at a time, one--”

“One round at a time. Yeah. That asshole should write a fucking self help book.” Renee rolls her eyes but Helena still catches the fondness in her tone. “He’s right, though. Gotta take it one day at a time.”

They’re quiet for a minute. Helena rarely allows herself to think about everything Renee has done for her. It’s _too much_ and she knows she’ll never be able to repay Renee so she focuses on what she _can_ do in this moment.

She reaches out, holding Renee’s hand in her own. She remembers how soft Dinah’s hand was and how her own is bruised and scarred but then Renee squeezes it and Helena thinks maybe Renee doesn’t mind.

(She hopes Dinah doesn’t either.)

Later Renee leaves with a tupperware full of risotto and Helena’s alone again.

Sleep still evades her so she turns to the mindless rhythm of exercise.

She’s done about sixty sit ups when she hears it. It’s softer than before but it’s still there. Music from Dinah’s apartment drifts through her own, bouncing off the walls and minimal furniture before landing in her ears.

But it doesn’t feel like a punch this time. More like a pat on the back.

And it’s… _nice_ , actually.

When Helena falls asleep that night, it’s with her ear pressed to the floor.

//

The next morning, Helena wakes with a sore back.

She’s still rubbing the knots between her shoulders when she steps through the entrance of her building for her morning run.

About three strides in, she hears it.

 _“Goddammit. Fucking hell. Shit.”_ Helena abandons her run before she can really think about it, following the string of curse words that leads to Dinah.

Dinah’s crouched, with her back to Helena, in the backseat of an ancient yellow convertible, arms wrapped around an equally ancient looking bookshelf.

“Um. Hi.” Helena says and she hates how much it sounds like a question.

When Dinah looks up, Helena watches as her frustration easily shifts into a smile.

“Hey Helena. You’re up early.”

“Yeah. I was running. Or I was going to but… do you… you want help? I mean, I can help you. With that.” Helena’s out of breath from getting all that out but she’s happy she did because Dinah exhales in relief.

“That would be amazing actually.”

It takes some maneuvering (mostly from Helena) but they manage to get the bookshelf out of the car. The _real_ hard part comes when they start carrying it up the stairs.

“Wait. Wait. Can we put it down for a second?” Dinah huffs from her end.

This will be their fourth break and they’re _so close_ to Dinah’s floor, but Helena doesn’t want Dinah to hurt herself so she slowly sets her end down.

“Damn, you’re strong.” Dinah says as she shakes out her arms. “You some kind of health nut?”

“Yeah. Sort of.”

“And mysterious too, huh?” Dinah’s teasing her again and Helena just can’t believe how much she _likes_ it.

“Well no. I’m a boxer.”

“Oh. That makes sense.” There’s nothing malicious in Dinah’s voice but that doesn’t stop her words from knocking the wind out of Helena. Her eyes snap closed as she’s hit with the memory of her hands, raised and ready to fight _Dinah_.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry about--”

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that. Really, Helena. _Trust me_.” Even with her eyes closed, she can tell Dinah’s right in front of her, even closer than she was last time. And suddenly she feels fingers wrapping around her wrists, pulling her hands away from where they are digging into her eyes. "Can you trust me?”

Helena takes a deep breath like Renee taught her. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. She can do this. She _can_.

“Yes.” She nods.

When she opens her eyes, all she sees is Dinah looking up at her, lips pulling up into a smile.

“See? I’m okay. You’re okay. Everything’s okay. Right?” And each time Dinah squeezes Helena’s wrists, Helena feels the tension draining from her shoulders.

“Right.”

They’re quiet for a minute and Helena’s just about got her breathing together when Dinah speaks again.

“So can you do that thing where you hit the bag super fast, like not a punching bag. The smaller one. Do you know what I’m talking about?” Helena’s not sure if Dinah’s genuinely interested in boxing training equipment or if she’s just humoring her but either way Helena’s so overwhelmed by the fact that Dinah’s _still_ here that she decides she can handle a little small talk.

“A speed bag? Yeah. It looks fun but it burns after a while.”

“I bet. That’s really cool though. Are you a pro?”

“Not yet. I mean… hopefully. If this summer goes well.”

“You have a tournament or something?”

“Yeah.” She doesn’t say anything about the Olympics. The last thing she wants is Dinah Googling her.

(She did once a few years ago and after skimming a few “the Bertinellis had it coming” articles, she threw her laptop against a wall.)

“Alright. You ready, Rocky?” She nods in response and she tries not to smile too much at the nickname.

They get the bookshelf into Dinah’s apartment and after a few more breaks (for Dinah), they position it where she wants it.

After, Helena gets a proper look at the apartment and… well it’s a total mess. Dinah had said she only moved in a week ago but _still_.

There are boxes everywhere. Clothes scattered on the floor and on the leather couch. She sees _multiple_ speakers too and even a keyboard in the corner of the room. There’s an old record player where most people would put a TV with records spilling all around it. She doesn’t recognize any of the artists but from last night’s concert she knows she must like a lot of them.

“I know it’s messy.” An understatement. “My new boss gave me the bookshelf so now I can contain some of this.” She gestures to the piles of books that line the walls.

Helena thinks Dinah will need more than one bookshelf for that to happen but that doesn’t stop her from saying, “I like it.”

“Yeah?”

Helena nods. She does, truly. It’s chaos and it’s so far from the organization of Helena’s life but for some reason, she feels warm standing on Dinah’s vintage Persian rug.

Her heart even beats a little faster at the idea of becoming a more permanent fixture here.

The problem is she’s not sure where or even _if_ she fits in Dinah’s space.

Or even if she wants to.

(She does.)

//

She sees Dinah a lot over the next few weeks. Whether it’s holding the door for her when Dinah’s hands are full of groceries or just saying hello before she starts her morning run. Turns out Dinah works late because she’s usually coming home when Helena’s heading out.

But none of those interactions last as long as Helena would like. She’s thought about making up some excuse to knock on Dinah’s door but no amount of practice in front of the mirror sounds good enough.

After an hour wasted rehearsing, she decides to focus harder on her training and leave that the Dinah stuff to fate, despite just how _wrong_ that feels. 

//

As it turns out, Dinah is _not_ the kind of person that leaves things to fate.

She’s just coming back from the gym now after a _very_ frustrating training session.

Sal kept nagging her that her jab was off so she compensated by going for bigger punches but then Sal got on her _again_ for losing her line of sight. It was enough to make Helena all but storm out of there.

By the time she reaches her floor, she’s sore and starving and completely surprised to see Dinah standing in front of her door.

“Helena. Hey, I was just about to knock.”

“How did you know which one is mine?” Helena asks, frozen in place.

“I asked around. No one here really knows your name so I asked for the tall, moody chick that only wears black.” Dinah says easily, as if she’s been talking to Helena like this for years.

“I don’t only wear black.” Helena grumbles despite the fact she _is_ currently dressed head to toe in all black. Dinah, on the other hand, dresses like she can’t get _enough_ color. Helena’s convinced her gold bomber jacket and excessive jewelry would look tacky on anyone else but Dinah looks… well _nice_.

“Anyway, I came to ask if you were hungry? I know a really good burger place.”

“What?” Her heart is hammering in her chest. Dinah wants to go to a restaurant… with her?

“Hey no pressure or anything. Just thought it’d be nice.”

And that _does_ sound nice. God when did everything become so fucking _nice?_

Too bad that can’t happen because restaurants are on her “avoid” list.

But…

Her stomach _is_ rumbling. And well, _technically_ , eating is an essential part of her routine so she wouldn’t really be breaking the schedule if she said yes, right?

Yeah, that makes sense.

“Sure. I could eat.”

“Well alright Rocky, let’s go.”

//

Helena’s hasn’t been to a place like Johnny’s Burger Joint in years. The kind of place with a sticky floor and pictures of old timey cars hung up everywhere and a menu with only two options: single or double.

The greasy burger that sits in front of her is a far cry from the salmon sitting in her fridge but Dinah seems to like it so it can’t be that bad. She takes a tentative bit and wow it’s not bad _at all_.

It’s _amazing_.

Four bites later, the whole burger is gone. Even their waitress, Roxy, is impressed when she stops by to drop off two milkshakes.

“I didn’t order this.” Helena says, pushing the glass away.

But Roxy slides it right back in front of her. “On the house. Any friend of Dinah’s is a friend of ours.”

It turns out, Dinah is a _celebrity_ here.

Everyone keeps coming up to their table to say “welcome back” and “good to see you” and Helena worries that she’s intruding on all these reunions but then again, Dinah always makes a point of saying, “and this is my neighbor, Helena.”

“I used to come here all the time with my mom.” Dinah says after another one of the cooks comes out to say hello. Helena catches the way Dinah hesitates over the word _mom_ and she realizes there is so much she doesn’t know about Dinah.

That must be normal because they’ve only known each other for a few weeks but what surprises her is how much she wants to know _more_. The serious stuff. The little stuff. All of it.

So she asks.

(Not about serious stuff.

Not yet.)

And she learns.

Learns that Dinah had her tenth birthday party here and that her whole fourth grade class came.

_“Everyone else was having theirs at bowling alleys and ice skating rinks but all I wanted was a cookies and cream milkshake.”_

That she went to college for social work but gave it up to be a singer.

_“I’m kinda like you, actually, looking for my big break into the pros.”_

Her favorite record she owns is Nat King Cole’s _Unforgettable_.

_“I know it’s old and cheesy but I love it. You can’t not smile when you hear a song like that.”_

She learns that Dinah’s never actually seen the movie _Rocky_ and that she plays with the rings on her fingers when she’s telling a story and Helena even learns something about _herself:_ she’d be perfectly happy to sit in this booth, listening to Dinah talk for the rest of the night.

Dinah must be curious too though because she keeps turning the questions back to her but Helena has years of practice evading anything personal. She keeps her answers vague and thankfully Dinah doesn’t push.

(Because there’s no way Dinah actually wants to hear about how Helena spent her tenth birthday in a group home surrounded by strangers or that boxing is less of her dream career and more of a way to avoid ending up in prison. Right?)

“Hey, where’d you go?” And Helena lets Dinah’s voice chase her memories away.

“I was just…. Is it weird if I get another one?” She gestures to her empty plate and she’s only _sort of_ avoiding because the way her stomach keeps flipping must mean she’s still hungry. She should’ve gotten the double.

“Not at all.”

“Cool.” Helena raises her hand to flag down Roxy.

“So I’m singing tomorrow night at the Black Mask Club.”

“Oh.” Helena nods, eyes scanning the place for their waitress but she catches Dinah still staring at her. “That’s good, right?”

“Yeah. Really good.” Dinah pauses, fidgeting with one of her many rings, before adding, “Would you wanna come?”

It’s the first time she’s heard a waver in Dinah’s voice. And Helena’s confused because Dinah’s already been witness to Helena on the verge of meltdown not once, but _twice_. Why would she be nervous to ask Helena anything?

(And why would Dinah want someone like _her_ there in the first place?)

Well whatever Dinah’s reason, it shouldn’t matter because Helena has to say _no_ , of course. She doesn't do this. The whole “going out” thing. She has her schedule and her structure and her routines.

She doesn’t need more.

(But _want_.

She’s starting to think that want is _not_ the same as need.)

The silence stretches and Helena feels her whole body protest when the brightness in Dinah’s eyes begins fading, her hopeful expression slipping away.

_Okay._

She can do this. She can adjust her schedule. For Dinah. Just one more time.

“Okay.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll be there.” She says with the confidence that she always carries in the ring but never quite had in her voice before now.

Helena has no idea what she’s just gotten herself into but Dinah’s smiling at her again and she has _dimples_ and suddenly she’s not scared.

(She’s terrified.)

//

Her thumb hovers over the call button for longer than she’d like to admit. She’s weighed and measured the pros and cons of this phone call forty times over and the pros win every time but she’s still hesitating.

God, why is this so hard?

_Forget it._

She’s fine.

She doesn't need help, she decides.

But then she looks around at her apartment. At her rarely used TV and her spotless kitchen and her fridge full of vegetables and electrolyte infused water and then she thinks about all the journalists and Renee and the hard truth that’s _missed_ so much of her life already.

She presses call.

_“What’s up, Killer?”_

“Harley. I need… can you come over?”

//

An hour later the Harley fucking Quinn express bursts through her door, spilling glitter and tequila in the process.

She hadn’t wanted to call Harley but she’s never done this, gone out to a bar or a club or anything, and she wants to do it _right_. From all the stories that Harley shares in the locker room at Sal’s, Helena knows Harley’s mastered the rituals of “going out.”

First, Harley tells her to “put her face on.” Apparently a big part of “going out” includes lots of makeup but she doesn’t have any so she puts some chapstick on and moves to step two, which is to pick out a “bomb ass outfit,” whatever that means.

“Okay, I’m ready.” She says as she comes out of her bedroom.

“Is _that_ what you’re wearing?” Helena looks down at her tracksuit. It’s her favorite. Black with purple outlining.

“Yeah?”

“Oh my God. You look fucking _fantastic_!” And Helena exhales in relief.

Maybe calling Harley wasn’t such a bad idea.

//

Correction: it’s the absolute _worst_.

Harley invites herself along to the Black Mask Club, because even though Helena never mentions Dinah, Harley somehow puts it together that her sudden interest in leaving her apartment has to do with “a special broad” and Harley just _has_ to watch “six pack Cinderella get her pumpkin” or something.

Harley fills the whole Uber ride with chatter and Helena’s not really sure what she’s saying most of the time but the closer they get to the club, the more she welcomes the distraction.

It’s once they’re inside, the panic hits.

There are _so many_ people and none of them are paying attention so they keep bumping into her. After another shove in the back, anger is swelling in her hands, Sal’s words faint against the music.

_Keep it in the ring. Keep it in the ring. Keep it in the ring._

But before she can push anyone back, Harley’s pulling her into a seat at the bar.

“Bertinelli, drink this. It’ll help.” Harley hands her a shot glass filled to the brim with an unidentified liquid.

“Help with what?”

“The nerves.”

“I’m NOT --” She starts, voice raised but she stops. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. “Okay.”

Harley claps her hands and raises her own glass. “To my fabulous friend. May you destroy any bitch that’s stupid enough to get in the ring with you in Tokyo.”

As far as toasts go, Helena doesn’t mind that one.

What she does mind is the burn in her throat though. Wow movies make this look so much easier.

Harley’s fully laughing at her attempts to hide her coughs and she’s about to shove the asshole off her stool when she hears it.

Hears _her_.

“Need some water, Rocky?”

 _Dinah_.

It has to be.

Helena looks up and yup it’s Dinah.

“Yup. It’s me.” Dinah says, amused. Oh God, did she say that out loud?

“Holy shit, it’s fucking Dinah Lance. You know my buddy, Bertinelli?” Harley’s still talking but Helena’s thrown. _Lance?_ Dinah Lance. Helena knows that name but from where?

Dinah seems to be coming to a realization of her own.

“ _Bertinelli?_ As in the Bertinelli massacre?” And then Dinah’s hands are flying over her mouth, regret written all over her face.

Helena’s only been here for like five minutes and already this could not be going worse. Because Dinah didn’t _know_ , at least officially, when they spoke before but by the way Dinah’s eyes are widening, there’s no going back.

“Helena, I’m sorry I --” Dinah starts but Helena stops her.

“It’s fine, really.” And it is. She can’t deny what her name is to most people. An emblem of violence and hatred and tragedy.

She just didn’t want Dinah to see her that way.

(Another thing she can’t control.)

Before anyone can say anything else, some jerk with a buzz cut yells at Dinah to get on stage.

When Dinah hesitates, Helena nods at the stage. “It’s okay. Really.”

“I’ll see you after?” Dinah asks, same hopeful tone as before and Helena can’t believe it. Can’t believe that Dinah _still_ wants her here.

Helena just nods again.

She watches Dinah walk toward the stage. Watches as people all over the club gravitate toward her, cheering her on as she makes her way onto the stage and she adjusts the microphone.

As hard as she tries to listen to Dinah introducing herself to the crowd, all Helena can hear is a new mantra pulsing in her ears. It’s nothing like Sal’s. This one doesn’t quiet the loudest parts of her. No. This one stokes and feeds until her hands shake from the effort of keeping them _down_.

_Dinah doesn’t need someone like you._

_Someone so full of rage, there’s no room for anything else._

With every word Dinah says, Helena slips further and further away.

By the time Dinah sings her first note, Helena is out of her seat and halfway to the exit. She hears Harley calling after her but she doesn’t stop. Doesn’t turn around.

Not this time.

_She runs._

//

She runs and runs and runs until she can’t run anymore and then she walks.

By the time the first beams of sunlight break over Gotham, sweat is pouring down her neck and her legs are shaking.

She parks herself on a bench. The _“Now Leaving Gotham”_ sign hangs over the bridge in front of her.

And it’s funny because every time she made it to this point as a teenager she’d stop too. As much as she claimed she wanted to escape Gotham, she actually never left, even with all of her chances. Always hesitating just long enough for someone to find her.

Renee, usually.

She has another chance now though. She could leave. Start over somewhere new. Change her name. Drop _Bertinelli_ for something easier.

But sitting alone on a bench, exhausted and defenceless, Helena admits to herself that running away is not what she wanted then and is still not what she wants now.

Not really.

She takes out her phone and dials the only number she knows by heart. As the phone rings, she takes a deep breath, preparing.

Renee answers on the third ring.

“Kid, this better be good. It’s 7am on my fucking day off--”

“I need help.”

//

It’s more than a little concerning how quickly Renee gets to her.

She can tell Renee is not happy by the way she’s drumming her fingers on the steering wheel but that doesn’t stop Helena from quipping, “Just like old times” as she puts her seatbelt on.

“That’s not fucking funny.” Renee sighs but there’s a small smile on her lips. “So are you going to tell me what happened? Are you in some kind of trouble--”

“I met someone.”

“What? Well hey, that’s _great_ \--”

Helena shakes her head, if she stops talking now she might never start again.

“I met someone and I’m scared. I’m so scared that I’m going to ruin it. I might’ve already ruined it actually. And I… ”

The truth sits heavily on her tongue but she’s come this far, she can’t quit now. She _won’t_.

So, honest and bare and as raw as a skinned knee, she says, “I’m scared the only thing I know how to do is fight.”

“That’s not true.”

“How do you know?”

Renee takes so long to answer, Helena thinks that she might not say anything at all. But then she does and it _cracks_ Helena open.

“Helena, how can that be true with a heart as good and gentle as yours?”

Helena instinctively opens her mouth to deny it but then she feels Renee’s hand covering her own and she just stops. 

And as Helena inhales, she lets Renee’s words expand her chest until she’s floating, weightless and _ready_.

She doesn’t say anything else and neither does Renee. They don’t have to. She just turns her head to the window and watches the alleyways and corner stores of downtown Gotham blend together into a blur of sun and color.

And then, Renee’s pulling up to her building.

“You good?” Renee asks as she unbuckles her seatbelt.

“Yeah.” And she means it. She does.

“What are you gonna do now?”

“Sleep probably.” She smiles. So much as changed since the last time she said those words.

(She might actually get those eight hours now.)

“Good idea.” Renee pauses. “But kid, maybe take a shower too, you know? Before you go do anymore of this dramatic confessional shit. You fucking stink, Bertinelli.”

And after everything she’s been through in the last 24 hours, after facing so much the pain and fear, she finally feels _light_ and she just wants to let it out somehow.

So she does.

She laughs, loud and free and _alive_. 

\-----

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, really enjoyed your comments from chapter 1
> 
> sorry to any of you who thought this fic would actually be about boxing... maybe i'll include an actual fight at some point... maybe ...
> 
> up next, dinah's pov, haven't written it yet so i am also interested to find out what she has to say about all this 
> 
> i'm also on tumblr (even though i'm not really sure how that place works) @mack-attack12


	3. Dinah

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About 8k of Dinah trying to get her life together with the help of music, bourbon, and maybe her new neighbor...maybe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi friends, 
> 
> for reference, here are two songs played in this chapter:  
> (sittin' on) the dock of the bay by otis redding  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rTVjnBo96Ug  
> unforgettable by nat king cole  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vDN5rG3wLa4
> 
> ALSO please check out this art from chapters 1&2 by the amazingly talented @konako!!  
> https://mack-attack12.tumblr.com/post/620230422269427712/konako-hey-wait-helena-stops-but-doesnt  
> https://mack-attack12.tumblr.com/post/618394800849305600/konako-she-gets-another-one-after-helena-gets
> 
> (sorry i don't know how to embed links...someone teach me pls)
> 
> hope you enjoy!

Ever since she started singing, Dinah always believed she was her best self on stage. She had it all up there. Confidence. Poise. A little mystery. 

For thirty minutes or however long her set lasted, she was Black Canary. Someone completely at home spilling her soul to strangers. Someone worth paying a $5 cover charge for. 

And it was _addicting_. That feeling of people listening to her. Actually listening. Hanging off of every note, transfixed in their seats. 

But the lights always come up and people are people.

They get bored. 

They move on. 

(They stop listening.)

After a few years of small venues and smaller paychecks, Dinah began to wonder what’s the point of trying so hard when it doesn’t even seem like these audiences _like_ Black Canary? 

And if they don’t like her onstage persona, then they definitely aren’t gonna care about who she is under all the sequins and eyeshadow. 

With all the money and patience she brought with her to LA spent, she’s finally ready to quit. Call it day. Surrender. Raise that stupid white flag and leave with what little she has left: A failed single on Spotify and a jacket collection that’s sure to look out of place on the grimy streets of Gotham. 

Gotham. When she left the last time, she was so sure she’d never go back. 

(She was sure of a lot of things then. 

Her talent. Her passion. _Herself._ )

But as she packs her life into two suitcases and loads up the old convertible, endless routes in front of her, the only place where she wants to wait out this embarrassing failure is… well home. 

She feels like one of those baby sea turtles that went into the ocean too soon. She got swept in all that LA bullshit and now that the ocean’s spat her back out, she needs to get all that water out of her lungs before she can do anything else. 

It’s been hard singing when she can’t even breathe. 

// 

Dinah would never say this out loud because people in Gotham fucking love throwing anyone with a whiff of crazy in Arkham Asylum but ever since she drove past that crooked “Welcome to Gotham” sign, she’s been seeing ghosts. 

Or _one_ ghost. 

A fucking persistent one. Following Dinah into the corner store on Wilson Street. Or standing across the pond in Robinson park. Never too close and always too far. 

It’s been four years since she’s been back, four years since she said goodbye to her mom. A lot has changed in Gotham but somehow she’s still _everywhere_. 

But Dinah spent four years ignoring the ache in her chest and that didn’t get her very far so she’s ready to try a different approach. 

Maybe it’s time she started facing all her shit head on. 

After the funeral, she’d been so eager to return to her west coast life that she’d thrown all her mom’s stuff in a storage unit without a second thought. She’s only been back in Gotham for two days now so she knows she could get away with waiting a little longer, until she’s more settled… but waiting kinda goes against this new mentality she’s trying out so on the third day she doesn’t walk, she _charges_ into that storage facility. 

It takes a while to go through all the boxes. She gets rid of most of the stuff, she can’t really afford the storage bill anymore but she does keep a few things.

A rug. A coffee table. Some books. 

And records. Every single one of her mom’s records. 

God, that woman had taste. Eclectic and completely unexpected from someone who never figured out how to work the old second hand iPod Dinah’d given her. From Sam Cooke to Van Morrison to Tracy Chapman to the Dixie Chicks, growing up there was always a constant stream of music in their house. 

But as soon as the box carrying memories of belting out Cher ballads in her pajamas with her mom meets the silence of her new apartment, all the bravado she took into the storage unit leaves her. 

The records spend their first night in their new home in their box, untouched and she drowns out the deafening silence with her favorite party playlist a friend of hers from LA made for her. A friend who hasn’t reached out once since she moved back to Gotham. 

She turns the volume up and ignores the feeling that the music sounds as hollow as she feels. 

// 

Dinah discovers pretty quickly that even if she wants to, she can’t procrastinate _everything_. 

Food is necessary too sometimes. And money. 

Doesn’t take her long to find a gig but she does have to suffer through the most uncomfortable audition experience of her life to get it. Dinah knows a creep when she sees one and the way Roman Sionis puts his arm around her shoulders has her skin crawling. 

The Black Mask Club is as dark and pretentious as it sounds and she really shouldn’t be surprised when she looks up halfway through her first song of the night and sees that no one’s really listening to her.

(Different city, same bullshit.) 

But hey, at least she’s employed. 

Didn’t some asshole say, _think positive, be positive?_ Well she’s fucking _trying_. 

She throws a little celebration in honor of her new job. Considering the guests are herself and a bottle of bourbon she thinks it’s more of a pity party but hey a party’s a party, right? 

She puts on another one of her friend’s playlists. One that always gets her dancing and for a minute, she tries. She _really_ tries. But dancing is supposed to be fun and light and maybe even careless and she’s not any of those things right now so she just sits on her floor, back against her couch, listening and sipping, sipping and listening. 

Until she hears a bang. And then another one. And then another. Each one louder than the one before and the bangs don’t stop until she cracks open the door. 

Her introduction to her upstairs neighbor isn’t exactly _positive_.

Dinah’s heart is racing with rage and she’s ready to rip this woman a new one for her tone but then the woman’s looking at her own hands, all disgusted and deflated, and Dinah hesitates. 

The woman’s shoulders cave in on themselves and suddenly she’s about five inches shorter than she was when Dinah first opened the door. And Dinah _hates_ this. Hates watching someone bend and twist to make herself smaller. 

There’s a tremor in the woman’s voice when she says, “I would never” and before Dinah can really think about it, she’s chasing after her.

And she’s glad she did. Her neighbor - Helena - is _not_ an asshole. Maybe a little blunt sure, but no one who looks this devastated can be an asshole. 

So Dinah goes for a joke. Anything to ease the tension knotted in Helena’s shoulders. 

And it _works_. 

What a difference one joke can make. Helena’s looking at her now, like _really_ looking, and she just wants to tell another one now so Helena doesn’t stop. 

But it’s 3am and Helena sways a little like she’s about to collapse. 

(Damn, she wasn’t kidding about not sleeping.)

So she lets Helena’s hand go.

But before she gets to her door, Helena’s calling her name and saying, “Goodnight” in a way Dinah instantly recognizes. 

She sounds lost. 

Dinah gets that. Gotham’s her home - or it was - but she can’t seem to get a grip on her life here so far. 

It makes Dinah want to pull Helena into a hug because maybe it would say more about how she understands that feeling than “Hope you get some sleep” will but there’s already so much distance between them again. 

She does turn her music off though.

Why make Helena suffer through loud bass and repetitive lyrics when she wasn’t even enjoying it herself?

But with the music gone, the silence returns and it’s loud. Like so fucking loud. 

It’s like static from a TV buzzing inside her brain. Her heart is still drumming from the encounter with Helena and she needs something calmer. Warmer. 

There’s an obvious solution. The records still trapped in their box practically scream over the silence. 

Well, it’s 3am and she’s a little tipsy but now’s as good a time as any to start facing things head on, right?

She downs the rest of her bourbon in one gulp. The fogginess that settles in her brain helps her fight the doubt that makes her footsteps feel heavy. Shaking fingers pull a record at random from the box and it takes her more tries than she’d like to admit to take the cover off. She holds her breath the moment the tonearm touches the record but as the first gentle strums of a guitar flood the apartment, she exhales. It’s unsteady but she’s breathing. 

The volume isn’t as loud as before but it isn’t quiet either. Dinah wants to be a good neighbor, she does, but the voices of Marvin Gaye and David Bowie and Whitney Houston deserve to be heard. 

The hours pass like how one song blends into another and when the sun comes up, Dinah still doesn’t stop. Not when the song playing is one that her mom used to hum in their kitchen on Sunday mornings, sleepy and soft but perfectly on key. And for those three minutes or so, Dinah can see her. Her laugh. Her yawn. The arch of her brow when Dinah spilled pancake mix on the counter.

It’s painful at first. More than once she’s tempted to throw the whole record player out her window but in the quiet hours of the morning while Gotham still sleeps, she finds herself feeling just a little less lonely. Her heart, a little less heavy. 

So she keeps listening whenever she has time. On nights when she’s not singing at the club, she spends hours collecting pieces of her mom, tucking them away like photographs in a wallet. 

It’s a whole lot cheaper than therapy.

But maybe just as good. 

Or maybe all this positivity shit must be really getting to her. 

//

Seriously _fuck_ positivity. 

Yeah she’s got her DIY music therapy going and that’s good or whatever and maybe she’s enjoying singing at the club a little more now that she’s started performing some of her mom’s old favorites instead of her boring Ariana Grande covers. 

But _seriously_.

There is no way in hell she’s going to be able to get this stupid bookshelf out of her car. 

She’s been at it for what feels like an hour but deep down she knows it’s probably only been ten minutes max. 

Victor had offered to come help her but she can’t stand the way that guy looks at her, like she's a bug he’d like to crush with his boot, so she shut that idea down real quick. 

She’s about two seconds away from accepting the bookshelf as a permanent addition to her car when Helena, of all people, steps in. And fuck, for someone so lanky, Helena is _strong_. 

Dinah could tell when they met before that Helena worked out but the way she lifts Roman’s old bookshelf out of the backseat has Dinah feeling… _things_. 

So far on the road to becoming a functional adult again, Dinah’s checked a few boxes.

She has an apartment. ✓

She has a job. ✓ 

She’s eating regularly. ✓

She’s even processing her feelings. Or starting to at least. Points for effort? 

But Dinah’s not really the checklist kind of person. She never has been. 

She’s more of the pie chart type, where the lines are curved and generally more forgiving. And a big circle that meeting Helena not so gently reminded her of is her social life. Dinah’s not exactly a social butterfly, never really been interested in having tons of friends or instagram followers, but fuck does she _miss_ people right now. 

Interaction. Companionship. Sex. All of it. 

Because seriously, what’s the point of all this self improvement bullshit if all she does is listen to music alone in her apartment?

And Helena, standing there like she just stepped out of an Adidas commercial, with her annoyingly toned arms and long legs on full display, really _isn’t_ helping. 

It is so _not_ the right time for this _._ She barely knows Helena but she already gets a sense that Helena is not someone who does anything casually. 

So like the semi functional adult that she is, she shoves those _things_ she’s feeling down. 

She can process them later. With bourbon. 

(But judging by her own taste in bourbon, it might be cheaper just to go to actual therapy after all.)

Only Helena’s making procrastination impossible. Especially when she turns to Dinah and says, completely genuinely, that she _likes_ Dinah’s mess of an apartment. 

Dinah’s in this strange limbo where she knows too much and not enough about Helena all at the same time. 

She knows she’s a boxer. 

She knows she’s got some issues. 

And from the inner dialogue Helena’s clearly (and constantly) having with herself, Dinah knows she’s working on them. Or _trying_. 

(Dinah would be lying if she said that fact didn’t grab her attention just as much as Helena’s back muscles.) 

As much as she wants to discover more, see how those things all intersect, something about Helena makes her want to slow everything down. If getting to know Helena better means giving her time and maybe a little reassurance, then Dinah can do that.

“Thanks for the help, Rocky.” She calls after Helena, leaning in her door frame. 

At the end of the hallway, Helena ducks her head and rocks back and forth on the balls of her feet a few times before descending the staircase.

And Dinah can’t believe that Helena actually thought she could be scared of her. How could she be when Helena is such a _nerd?_

Nerds aren’t who Dinah usually goes for but as she watches from her window as Helena starts her run, she thinks it makes sense.

Somewhere between the music and the positivity, she found a small part of her that’s ready for something good in her life for a change. 

(Or someone.)

//

Bumping into Helena in all sorts of skimpy athletic clothing becomes somewhat of a daily occurrence. 

But see, the first time, it’d been before Helena started her run. Now she’s seen her a few times _after_ , sweat dripping down her neck, and holy shit. It’s an experience. Dinah would go as far to say a _positive_ experience. 

They’re finding their groove, the two of them. Conversations don’t really leave the small talk bubble - Dinah’s never met anyone who answers questions about the weather so intensely - but Dinah really lives for Helena’s shy smile whenever she calls her Rocky. 

It takes running into someone else for Dinah to realize that Helena is the only person she’s had a _real_ conversation with in weeks. 

Clay stops her in the middle of the frozen section of the grocery store. Last time she saw him was at her mom’s funeral and somehow he looks the exact same, just with more gray peppering his mustache. He was her mom’s favorite server at Johnny’s, always sneaking them extra fries or something. 

It’s taken a month for the city to feel less like one of those wacky mirrors in a haunted house and more like a place that’s _hers_ . But seeing this sixty year old man sends her _spiraling_ back. 

All he says is that everyone at the restaurant would love to see her and for some reason, she finds herself crying in a cramped grocery store bathroom stall. Her mom would get a kick out of that if she could see her now. 

_“Real classy Dinah.”_

“It’s just a restaurant.” She tells herself. But at the same time it’s _not_. 

She grew up there. 

Her mom worked long hours and Dinah hated being at home without her so most nights, her mom would leave the police station and find Dinah curled up in the back booth, AP Physics textbook open in front of her. 

She was there so often that one day Clay greeted her by throwing a server’s apron at her face. He told her that she might as well make some money for all the time she spends there. 

_Why couldn’t you work at The Salad Station instead?_ Her mom would always complain when Dinah would come home with a milkshake for her. 

God, there’s a whole jukebox full of memories there. 

Steering clear of Johnny’s seems like the sane thing to do. Why subject herself to more pain than she already has? No one told her that the whole “facing things head on” kick is fucking tiring work. And it’s so much _easier_ just to take a left instead of a right on Collins Street and ignore Johnny’s altogether. 

And that’s familiar to Dinah. Doing the easy thing. A couple bad reviews, some discouraging comments from producers and she couldn’t pack her shit fast enough to get out of LA. 

Her mom wasn’t like that though. 

She never did an easy thing in her life. She was the kind of woman who would run into a burning building if it meant saving one more life. 

There’s a bitter part of Dinah that wishes her mom hadn’t been quite so kind, so selfless. She might still be here if she wasn’t. 

But then she wouldn’t have been _her_. 

If her mom could do all that, well then Dinah can “woman the fuck up” and stop being so scared of a goddamn restaurant. 

She knows her eyes are puffy and there’s mascara trailing down her cheeks but she doesn’t look in the mirror when she washes her face. She knows what she’ll see. 

Maybe her mom wasn’t the ghost she’s been seeing after all.

Maybe it’s herself. 

The person she used to be when she had substance, instead of this shell she is now. 

She pushes those thoughts out of her head with a long sigh. It’s scary how dangerous her thoughts are sometimes. They’re like the invisible hand that lurks at the bottom of the deep end of a swimming pool, ready to drag her underwater if she doesn’t swim fast enough. 

Her hands still shake as she struggles to fit the key into the lock of her apartment door. 

The bourbon on her counter welcomes her home. It would be so easy to drown her shitty day in alcohol but she freezes before she can uncap the bottle. 

She’s come so far. Too far to go back now. 

Fuck easy. 

Dinah is going to _face it._

As she passes by her windowsill, she sees Helena leaving on her motorcycle. Probably going to the gym. And another thought floats across her mind. One that’s still pretty scary but maybe in a good way? Dinah’s not sure that’s possible but the thought sticks with her. 

Maybe, just maybe, she doesn’t have to face everything by herself. Maybe people or really _a person_ can be just as conducive for change as music. 

**//**

It’s an interesting experience being out in the real world with Helena. 

She eyes every single person who approaches their table with suspicion and accepts the free milkshake with the grace of a toddler being forced to eat her vegetables but Dinah really can’t complain in the slightest. 

Not when she’s still soaking up the fact that Helena actually agreed to come. That she’s _here_ . She’s patient through that parade of familiar faces that swing by their table and she doesn’t press when Dinah says that this _was_ her mom’s favorite restaurant. 

Though, apparently Helena’s not content to just sit there and let Dinah carry the conversation like usual. She asks Dinah so many questions that Dinah wonders if she’s hiding a list under the table. Not anything super personal but the questions not exactly small talk either. 

And Dinah doesn’t just answer them. Words are just spilling out of her and with every answer, Helena inches forward in her seat, like Dinah’s saying actually something important, not what her favorite sport is or whether she likes the west coast or the east coast better or if she’s ever been on a road trip. 

_(I don’t really do the whole sports thing. But I played soccer in middle school. The coach even said I had a good left foot. And a good right foot too actually._

_That’s tough. They’re so different. I loved LA when I first got there but I feel like California and I went through a breakup. By the time I left, we weren’t on good terms and I was in that “delete all my instagram pictures of you” stage, you know? But it’s complicated with Gotham too. I guess I’m just complicated. Long answer but I’ll go for home. East coast. Better bagels. Less yoga._

_Yeah. I’ve been on a few. The drive from here to LA is a monster. But my favorite road trip was actually after I graduated high school, my mom and I drove to this beach in Maine. It’s one of the only beaches there with sand cause it’s so rocky. It was just the two of us and I didn’t even want to go at first because I’m not that outdoorsy and my friends were all going to Atlantic City but that beach is the most beautiful place I’ve ever been. I mean… I don’t know. Atlantic City probably would’ve been just as good though.)_

Her chest tightens as she finishes her road trip story and she runs a hand through her hair to resist the urge to rub her hand over it. 

“I don’t think so.” Helena breaks the silence, eyebrows knitted together. 

“What?”

“Atlantic City. I don’t think it would’ve been just as good.” 

And she’s right. She’s _so_ right. 

That trip with her mom was maybe the happiest Dinah’s ever been. 

The tension in her chest relaxes and that’s a lot to process so she flips the questions back to Helena with mixed results. 

_(Boxing._

_Never been out west._

_Does driving to Philly count?)_

As much as that eats at Dinah, they’ve come a long way since their first encounter so she counts this as a win.

And since she’s on a winning streak, why stop now? 

“Would you want to come?” She asks because the idea of having Helena at the Black Mask Club, hearing her sing, looking the way she has been all night, has her heart racing. 

Helena goes quiet, eyes trained on her empty plate. _Shit_ , she totally misread this. 

But before she can back track, Helena’s talking and Dinah’s not sure how she can make one word sound like a declaration but fuck, she _does_. 

“Okay.” 

And as much as Helena fights it, there’s a smile on her face, soft and unsure, and Dinah just knows there’s so much _missing_ from it. 

She wonders what Helena would look like completely free of whatever she’s carrying?

(Another thing Dinah’s noticed that Helena tries to hide. The weight of loss sits on her shoulders the same way it rings in Dinah’s ears.)

_Beautiful_ , she thinks.

And she ignores the voice in her head that says Helena _already_ is.

//

There's a moment when Dinah’s weaving her way to the bar that she wonders if Helena will show or not. 

The Black Mask Club doesn’t seem like her scene. More drugs and alcohol than dumbbells and kale or whatever Helena normally eats. 

But she doesn’t have to wonder for long because Helena’s here, sitting at the bar with Harley Quinn of all people. How the fuck do those two know each other? 

Whatever, doesn’t matter. 

What matters is that Helena showed up and for the first time in so long, Dinah can’t wait to get on stage. To feel the music. 

(To feel Helena’s eyes on her.) 

Only like most good feelings, this one doesn’t last. 

She makes a mess of everything and before she can fix it, Victor is pulling her toward the stage. 

All it takes is one last look at Helena, hunched in her seat, hands clenching and unclenching, for the excitement to sink to the bottom of her stomach. 

Something else rises in its place and she feels _sick_. 

But not as sick as she feels when she descends the stage after one of her worst performances she can remember and finds Helena’s barstool empty. 

//

When she pictured how the night was going to go, it ended with Helena walking her to her door like they’re in some 1950s romance. At least in the PG version of Dinah’s thoughts.

(There may be some R rated thoughts swirling in the back of her head too.) 

But regardless of the rating, the night did _not_ end with Dinah taking pulls from a bottle of tequila in the parking lot with Harley Quinn but hey nothing ever works for her, right?

Yeah that whole positivity shit is _shit_. 

At least she has Harley, misery loves company and all that. They went to high school together or at least they did until Harley got herself sent to boarding school right before senior year. Never really talked much then but since she’s a regular at the Black Mask Club, Dinah’s had to contend with another reminder of her old life, albeit a distant one. 

“Did she say anything?” She asks, turning the bottle in her hands. 

“Bertinelli?” If Harley notices Dinah’s shiver at the name she doesn’t say anything. “Oh yeah, before she left, she told me her entire thought process in vivid detail and then we painted each other’s nails and had cosmos.” 

Yeah this is why she didn’t talk to Harley in high school. What an _asshole_. 

“You could’ve just said no.” 

“Well, what’d you expect from her? She’s fucked up.” Harley says, casually and without judgment, but it still has Dinah’s jaw clenching. 

“Hey, watch your —”

“Oh, don’t get all defensive. I just mean, we’re all fucked up. I sure as hell am. And say what you want Lance, but so are you. And your girlfriend, she’s like the queen of fucked up —”

“She’s not my —”

“...like just imagine watching your mom, and dad, and brother, and uncles, aunts, cousins, what have you, all get shot in front of you. Talk about childhood trauma.”

“Harley, _stop it._ ” The image of Helena, young and bloody, twists her stomach so sharply she might actually get sick this time. 

“Too far? Sorry, doll.” 

Yeah, it’s happening. 

Harley barely has time to jump out of the way before Dinah’s vomiting on the gravel.

But even with her stomach empty, the nausea doesn’t fade. Her mom had told Dinah about Helena Bertinelli once. Said she survived that night with just a broken arm because her own mother’s body had collapsed on top of her. Shielding her. 

Her heart _hurts_ for nine year old Helena Bertinelli. And for her… well the one she knows now. The older one. The one can say more with a nod than most people can in a whole speech. 

Dinah just wishes she’d listened better. 

//

She shares a tense but thankfully silent Uber ride home with Harley. She’s got one foot out of the car when she feels a hand on her shoulder. 

“Hey wait —” Dinah shrugs Harley's hand off.

“What Harley?”

“Just talk to her, okay?” And Harley knows how to push all Dinah’s fucking buttons tonight, doesn’t she? The last person Dinah wants advice from is the clown that spiked the punch with laxatives at junior prom. 

“What do you know anyway?” 

“Well for your information, I know a lot. I’m getting my fucking PHD.” Dinah wants to ask what the fuck kind of school Harley’s been going to but she’s had enough of her for one night. She slams the car door shut.

“Wait. Do me a favor, Lance.” Harley yells, head poked out the window. 

“Seriously?” 

“Don’t fuck it up.” 

This is the most serious Dinah’s ever heard Harley sound and the shock must mess with her brain because before she can stop herself she’s talking again. 

“Harley… What do I even say to her?” 

So much for not asking Harley for advice. 

To her credit, Harley actually takes a second to think before answering. Too bad the Uber driver doesn’t give two shits about the moment they’re having because he starts driving away. 

Her mom always used to joke that Dinah was a sprinter in another life because of the way she liked running her mouth but as she struggles to keep up with the moving car, Dinah thinks there’s no way that’s true.

“Does Bertinelli being a Bertinelli change anything for you?” 

She doesn’t even have to think about it. 

“No.” 

“Then that’s what you say, dummy.” 

Dinah’s footsteps slow and the car disappears into the night.

Huh. That’s… that’s not the worst advice she’s ever heard. Maybe all that school is paying off after all, not that she’d ever tell Harley that. 

//

She spends the next morning curled up in her windowsill, nursing cup of coffee and a brutal hangover. From her perch, she watches for a glimpse of brown hair thrown in a messy bun and strong shoulders. 

It’s well past the time Helena usually comes back from her run but she waits anyway. 

She takes another sip of coffee and cringes. It’s cold now. 

Harley’s words ring in her ears as she rinses out her mug. Dinah knows what she wants to say to Helena but what she doesn’t know is _how_ to say it. Whatever’s happening between the two of them is beyond the textbook two hour rule for texting. Not that she can even text Helena because they never even exchanged phone numbers. God, they’re such a mess. 

She considers putting some music on. Not a bad idea to get lost in something other than her thoughts about Helena for a few minutes, right?

But as her hand lowers the tonearm onto her favorite Ella Fitzgerald record, she realizes what she’s doing. 

She can’t let music become like Bourbon. Just another tool in her arsenal for putting things off. 

Here goes nothing. 

No. not nothing.

_Something._

She bounds up the stairs, eyes narrowed in single minded focus. All she can hear is the slamming of her own feet on the ground and suddenly her shoulder slams into what feels like a wall. Her arms reach out as she falls backward but then hands wrap around her wrists and heave her upright. 

Helena’s hands. 

She pulls Dinah up with so much force that the momentum drives Dinah up another step and from there, at eye level, Dinah gets a good look at her. 

Helena's hair is wet and water droplets train down her neck and onto her tank top. There are bags under her eyes but there’s energy buzzing where Helena’s hands still touch her skin. 

“Dinah. Hi.” And it’s so quiet, Dinah leans even closer, savoring every syllable. “I was just on my way to see you.” 

“Me too, actually.” 

“You go first.” Helena tries releasing Dinah’s wrists but Dinah wraps her own hands around Helena’s.

“No, you go.” Dinah rushes out. As much as she wants to say everything on her mind, there’s something about the openness in Helena’s eyes that she needs to know if she’ll be able to hear it in Helena’s voice too. 

“Dinah.” No one’s ever said her name the way Helena does. Like it’s a stepping stone. Heavy, full of substance, and completely necessary. “I’m sorry I left last night. I… I needed to think. To figure some things out.” 

“And did you?” Despite Dinah’s best efforts to swallow her nerves, they still seep into her voice, making it sound warbled. She doesn’t do the whole sports thing but the ball’s in Helena’s field or whatever and the anticipation is still fucking scary. She clears her throats and tries again. “Did you get it all figured out?”

Helena inhales sharply, taking in as much air as possible. 

“Some parts, yeah. The important ones. I have a hard time… getting to know people. But I like talking to you. So much. And…” Helena trails off so Dinah gives her wrists a squeeze. “And if you want to keep talking to me… I’d really like that.”

It’s so earnest and understated and just _Helena,_ and Dinah melts right there on the stairs. 

“I’d like to keep talking to you too.”

“Yeah?” Dinah’s smile falters a little at just how surprised Helena looks and she remembers her own panicked gasp at the Bertinelli reveal last night. 

“Yeah. And I’m sorry too. I didn’t mean to upset you —”

She stops when she feels pressure on her wrists. Helena’s the one giving _her_ the reassuring squeeze this time. 

“You didn’t, not really. I was going to tell you about… _me…_ But I didn’t want to scare you away with all the… you know.”

_Baggage. Trauma. Pain._

“You didn’t. You _couldn’t_.”

Helena lets out a shaky breath, eyes now trained on the ceiling. Her shoulders rise incrementally as the first signs of tension arrive. 

Dinah puts a hand on Helena’s cheek, drawing her attention back down to her. They’re so close but not close enough for Dinah. 

“Helena, can I hug you?” For a few seconds Helena just looks at her but then Dinah feels Helena’s slow nod under her hand. Her arms wrap around Helena’s neck and as she exhales she lets her weight drop onto tense shoulders in a way that she hopes Helena finds comforting instead of constricting. 

When Helena’s own arms come to rest on Dinah’s back, pressing Dinah even closer, she knows she did the right thing. 

“And just so you know.” Helena’s wet hair sticks to her cheek as she whispers into Helena’s neck. “I’ve got my shit too. I don’t have everything figured out either. 

“Maybe we could talk about it sometime.” Dinah nods and then pulls back. She tries to not think too much about how Helena’s body instinctively follows hers before Helena really realizes what she’s doing because _fuck_. 

It’s so much and not enough all at the same time. 

And they probably could spend the whole day delving into all their trauma but Helena’s relaxed again now and Dinah wants to keep her that way. 

She’s not procrastinating, she’s prioritizing. It’s _different_. 

“Yeah, sometime. But we’ve got time for that. Today, we should just… hangout.” 

“Okay.” Helena nods but eyebrows are all scrunched up like Dinah just asked her to recite the quadratic formula. 

Right, this is Helena she’s talking to. She doesn’t exactly “hangout.” 

“We could watch a movie or something? Unless you have to go to the gym.”

“No, I… ” Helena stops like she can’t believe whatever thought just crossed her mind. Dinah waits as Helena smiles to herself, head shaking slightly. “I’m taking the day off.” 

Dinah knows Helena doesn’t take many of those but she doesn’t want to make a big deal about it - even if her heart feels like it’s beating out of her chest - so she just takes Helena’s hand and guides her to her apartment. 

They sit on Dinah’s couch, her laptop balanced carefully in between them, thighs touching just barely. There’s a slight blush on Helena’s cheeks but Dinah doesn’t want to make a big deal about that either. 

She just pockets the image away. It’s definitely worth keeping. 

Barely thirty minutes into the movie, Dinah feels a weight on her shoulder. Helena’s fast asleep and if this happened with literally anyone else Dinah might be annoyed or even offended but she just cranes her neck a little so Helena has more room. 

When Helena finally wakes up, Dinah stops Helena’s profuse apologies with a wave of her hand and an offhand, “I guess I’ll just have to pick a more exciting movie next time.” 

“Next time.” Helena repeats with a smile as dopey and wide as she’s ever seen it and Dinah can’t hide her own blush even if she wanted to. 

//

“Next time” turns into all the time. Helena spends practically every night Dinah’s not singing at the club, curled up on Dinah’s couch, providing occasional commentary on whatever movie Dinah’s picked. 

Of all the movies they’ve watched so far, Helena ends up loving _The Princess Bride_ the most. Helena never says that _exactly_ but for the whole week after they watch it, she tries to slip quotes from the movie into normal conversation with varying degrees of success. 

_(“Sorry, Helena. I’m out of orange juice.”_

_“Inconceivable!”_

Not Helena’s best effort but she looks so proud of herself Dinah still cracks a smile. 

_“Can you pass me my computer charger?_

_“As you wish.”_

Now that one. Yeah. That one has Dinah swooning like some Victorian lady on a windy hill. Maybe...)

And after weeks of asking, Dinah finally convinces Helena to take a turn picking the movie. At Helena’s sheepish expression, Dinah knows exactly what movie Helena has queued up. 

_Rocky_. 

But despite her faux exasperated “So damn predictable, Helena,” it turns out, Dinah fucking _loves_ Rocky Balboa. How the hell could she not? She gets swept up in the drama of it, of every training montage and last minute pep talk and she can’t stop picturing Helena as the one running up those steps. Once the credits roll, Dinah’s itching to see Helena in action so she asks her when her next fight is. Naturally, her answer is anything but _predictable_. 

_(“Not until July.”_

_“Cool, is it in Gotham?”_

_“Oh. No… It’s in Tokyo.”_

_“WHAT?”)_

Now that the Olympic sized cat’s out of the bag, Dinah’s taken to blasting the Rocky theme from her window whenever she catches Helena coming back from the gym or from a run. 

She thinks the way Helena shakes her head and smiles up at her window means she’s only _slightly_ annoyed. 

(Their neighbors, on the other hand, may be more than slightly annoyed judging by the series of complaints she receives from their landlord.)

(She doesn’t stop though.) 

But it’s been weeks of movie nights and dinners at Johnny’s and occasional walks through Robinson Park - Helena had suggested they go on a run together and Dinah shut that down real quick with a _“Thanks but no thanks Miss Six Minute Mile”_ \- and Dinah’s _still_ not sure how to define what’s going on between them. 

Helena keeps doing shit like putting together Dinah’s new dresser all by herself and bringing Dinah protein smoothies before she goes to the club that make Dinah just want to grab her by her stupidly tight tank top and well… _kiss her_. 

But every time she finds herself tempted, which is _a lot_ , she stops herself. The last thing she wants to do is push Helena too far. Helena already ran out on her once and yeah she did come back but Dinah’s not sure she wants to take that risk. 

And she’s fine to go at Helena’s pace. Really. 

It’s just that sometimes, like the time she started humming along to that “Time of My Life” song from _Dirty Dancing_ , she’ll catch Helena staring at her lips and she’ll hold her breath, thinking _this time_ Helena will close the distance between them but then she _doesn’t_.

And it’s enough to make Dinah wonder if she’s seeing signs that aren’t actually there. 

(Wouldn’t be the first time.)

//

  
  


Having someone important in her life is a blessing and a curse. 

She doesn’t feel so lonely anymore but sometimes she feels like she’s going insane. 

The debate on whether Helena wants more from her than friendship runs circles in her mind to the point that it’s affecting one of her once stable pillars of adulthood: Her job. 

After a pretty disastrous performance where Dinah for the first time in her entire career forgets the words to the fucking song she’s singing, Roman sends her home early for being “distracted.” As she walks out of the club, her songs being replaced by Top 40 dance mixes, Dinah wonders if she’s even ready for this. Whatever _this_ is with Helena. 

Despite her promises, maybe Dinah needs more time to sort her shit out before she gets in too deep with someone.

Helena’s not the only one that can bail. She can too, she thinks in between sips of bourbon. 

She bailed on LA. Took the easy way out. She didn’t even have to choose between sink or swim. She never believed in her music enough to deserve to be in the water in the first place. 

Her mom’s Otis Redding record does nothing to quell the feeling of failure that wraps around her like a blanket. It’s late May now and that extra warmth _burns_ far more than the humidity outside. She’s so lost she doesn’t even hear the knock on the door or Helena’s footsteps as she approaches Dinah.

Helena doesn’t say anything as she slides down the front of the couch and sits next to Dinah on the floor. 

“Music too loud?” Dinah jokes in the hope that it will mask how pathetic she looks, getting drunk by herself on a Friday night. It’s not the first time and it probably won’t be that last. 

Helena smiles anyway and as much as Dinah searches, she can’t find any judgment in it. “Dinah, I can always hear it.”

Dinah groans. _Of course she can._

“Shit, sorry —”

“No, no. I… I like it.” Dinah watches as everything from Helena’s cheeks to the tips of her ears turn red. 

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Helena’s fingers brush against the back of her hand and Dinah rests her glass on the floor so she can join their hands together. With Helena’s thumb stroking hers, Dinah lets the only voice inside her head be the one coming from the record player. Her mom used to say Otis Redding had a voice as smooth as butter. 

“My mom loved this song.” She doesn’t mean for it to come out like a whisper but it does, like if she talks any louder, her voice will release the tears threatening to fall. 

Helena’s quiet beside and Dinah likes watching her like this. So focused on whatever she’s thinking about that there’s a little crease between her eyebrows. 

“I met her once. Your mom.” Dinah’s heart throbs - just for a second - and it hurts so badly that she has to take a deep breath before meeting Helena’s gaze. “I didn’t put it together at first. The different names… Anyway, before I started boxing I used to get in fights sometimes at school and when I was fifteen I got a really bad one.” 

Helena pauses. Dinah knows that some of the scars on Helena’s hands didn’t come from the boxing ring but Helena’s never said more than two words about them at a time until now. 

“Your mom… She sat with me in lock up for a little, until my… Renee got there. She got me ice for my eye. She was nice. Nicer than most people were to me then.”

Dinah’s lip trembles as she grits out, “That sounds like her.” 

“And _you_.” Helena sounds so sure that Dinah’s tempted to believe her. So tempted. 

“I’m nothing like her.” 

“You’re the best person I know.” 

One tear trails down her cheek and then the gates are open. They fall in a steady stream. Nothing Dinah can do to stop them. 

She doesn’t say anything else. She can’t. So she squeezes Helena’s hand. And Helena squeezes hers right back. 

And as the tears start to slow, she’s not prepared for the sudden relief she feels in her chest. Helena knows, she _knows_ how wonderful her mom was. Witnessed it firsthand. Carried the memory with her for years. 

For the first time, Dinah sees herself in the reflection of the pieces of her mom she’s been collecting. Sees the strength she’d denied for so long and the kindness too. 

She presses her smile into Helena’s shoulder and Helena doesn’t let go of her hand, even when they drift off to sleep. 

//

They wake up a few hours later, stiff and sore from sleeping on the floor. Through squinting eyes Dinah sees the glowing number from the microwave. It’s about 3:26am. 

Helena’s standing, her own eyes glued to the door but she doesn’t move. And fuck, Dinah doesn’t want her to. 

“Dinah I —”

“Do you want —” 

They both stop, smiles spreading in spite of the slight awkwardness surrounding them. 

“I…” Helena sighs in the way she does when she’s frustrated with herself. “I should go.” 

It is 3:27am and Dinah should just let her go to bed but she’s feeling braver than ever so she blocks Helena’s view of the door. 

“You don’t have to.” 

“It’s late.” 

“Do you want to go?” Dinah asks.

Helena opens her mouth and then closes it. 

“No.” She says finally. Her eyes are as open and vulnerable as they were that day in the stairwell. 

And that’s the answer Dinah wanted but now that it’s out in the open, she’s not sure what to do next. Except she _is_. 

She wants to do something she hasn’t wanted to do in months, years even. 

“Wanna dance with me?”

Whatever Helena expected her to say, that wasn’t it. “What? Now?” 

“Why not? 3am is kind of our time.” Dinah’s lips twitch at the memory of their first meeting.

“I.. I don’t know how.” Helena looks at her feet. 

“I’ll teach you.” Dinah’s already moving the stack of records on her floor. “Well since you’ve been listening to my music this whole time, you got any requests?” 

Helena blushes and tries to shove her hands in her pockets only to realize her shorts don’t have any. She runs her hand through her hair instead. 

“Can you… I want to hear the one you told me about. Your favorite.” 

Dinah’s stomach flips at that. And really any doubt she had about Helena’s feeling for her drains from her thoughts because Helena’s _here_ in her apartment, waiting to dance with her at 3am to her favorite song. 

“I’m warning you, it’s super corny.” She jokes to avoid spilling all the feelings bubbling up inside of her. 

“I don’t mind.” 

The first notes of the song drift across the room, the sound drawing them closer together. 

“Well, come on then.” Dinah says as she puts one hand on Helena’s shoulder and holds Helena’s hand with the other. She guides Helena as much as she can but Helena’s practically a plank of wood in her arms. “Hey Helena, even your two left feet can’t mess up a slow dance.” 

“Two left feet?” Helena sputters. “I’m a _boxer_. I’m incredibly coordinated and —” 

“You just stepped on my big toe.”

“No, I didn’t.” Helena hisses but looks down at Dinah’s feet anyway as they sway to the music. 

“It’s gonna turn purple.” 

“Two left feet? You should see me jump rope.” 

“By all means, bring your jump rope next time, Rocky.”

“I will.” Dinah laughs at the determined set of Helena’s jaw. She’s 100% gonna bring a jump rope next time isn’t she?

_Next time._

After a few seconds, Dinah pulls back from Helena’s shoulder. At her grin, Helena stops her muttering about exactly how coordinated she is. 

“What?” Helena asks. 

“You’re doing it.” 

“Doing what?” 

“You’re dancing.” Somewhere in the banter, Helena relaxed and Dinah’s more than a little proud of herself for helping her get to this point. 

Dinah’s danced with a lot of people. At prom. At weddings. At clubs. 

But never like this. Never with someone holding her the way Helena is now. So gently but there’s something in her grip that makes Dinah think if she asked, Helena would never let go. 

They sway in circles around Dinah’s record player in sync with the music and Dinah hums along. 

_Never before has someone been more_

_Unforgettable in every way_

And when she looks back at Helena, she’s leaning in and Dinah doesn’t hesitate to meet her halfway. 

As soon as their lips touch, Dinah feels Helena’s hand clench her t-shirt but after Dinah moves her hand to cup Helena’s cheek, Helena unfurls her fingers, one at a time, until she’s holding Dinah properly again. 

The kiss is so Helena. Soft and firm, gentle and unwavering all at the same time. Even when it’s over, Dinah’s lips tingle with the sense of _beginning_ . As she pulls back, Dinah watches Helena for a beat. Watches how her eyes stay closed and how she’s smiling and she’s just _so_ beautiful that Dinah pushes up on her toes to kiss her again. 

Helena pulls away first this time, breathing heavy, eyes finally fluttering open. 

“Was that… Is that… Are you --”

Dinah stops her rambling with another kiss. And then another. Until they’re both smiling too much for their lips to stay together for more than a few seconds. Dinah presses one last kiss to the corner of Helena’s mouth and then rests her head on Helena’s chest. 

The dance continues with Helena's heartbeat humming a new cadence in her ear.

It’s so loud that Dinah doesn’t even notice when the music stops.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks again for reading
> 
> lemme know what you think in the comments!
> 
> i'm thinking one more chapter (ft. the olympics yay!!!) but who knows, i've never followed an outline in my life

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> this chapter really got away from me but i had a lot of ground to cover.
> 
> next chapter will be shorter (hopefully) and from helena's pov


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